
Glass _ 

Book j4lL 



A NURSE AT THE WAR 




EARLY DAYS WHEN WOMEN COULD GET 
TO THE FRONT. 



jryt. kj 

A NURSE AT THE WAR 

NURSING ADVENTURES IN 
BELGIUM AND FRANCE 



NEW YORK 

ROBERT M. McBRIDE & CO. 

MCMXVII 



3M0 



Primed in Great Britain 



TABLE OF CONTENTS 



I. 
II. 

III. 

IV. 



PART I 

FLANDERS 

THE ROAD TO LIERRE 
lLINES 
DIEU ..... 

ANTWERP THE BOMBARDMENT 

AND FLIGHT .... 

GHENT ARRIVAL I HOSPITALS AND 

HOSPITALITY : FLIGHT, RETURN, 
AND THE " BOCHES " 



13 
43 

56 



PART II 

FRANCE 

I. HOW THE CORPS CAME TO CALAIS . 8l 

II. THE HOSPITAL IN EARLY DAYS . IOI 

III. CONVALESCENTS AND CHRISTMAS. II7 

IV. LIFE AT A REGIMENTAL AID POST. 1 26 
V. A DAY OF ODD JOES . . -136 

VI. A NIGHT IN NIEUPORT . . 1 53 

VII. AN ENGLISH BILLET . . . l6l 

VIII. THE SENTRY AND PARIS IN WAR- 
TIME ...... I72 



VI 



TABLE OF CONTENTS 



CHAP. 
IX. 

X. 



LIFE AT RUCHARD 
ODDMENTS AND THE END. 



182 
193 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 



TO FACE 
PAGE 



EARLY DAYS WHEN WOMEN COULD GET 
TO THE FRONT . . Front* 

DURING THE FIRST WINTER, I914 

MASS IN THE TRENCHES 

RUINS OF A CHURCH . 

WHERE A BOMB FELL 

LIFE IN THE FRONT LINE 

DIVISION BEING REVIEWED ON ITS RE 
TURN FROM THE TRENCHES 

SHELL IN CANAL 

THE MORNING WASH . 

A TRENCH IN THE SAND 

GUNS HIDDEN IN BRANCHES 

WHERE THE HUN HAS PASSED 

WAYSIDE GRAVES 

RESTING BY THE WAYSIDE . 

THE FIRST SOLDIERS' CANTEEN IN THE 
BELGIAN ARMY. RUCHARD, I915 



16 
16 

32 

3 2 
48 

48 

64 

64 

96 

96 

144 

144 

184 

184 



PART I 
FLANDERS 



CHAPTER I 

THE ROAD TO LIERRE 

The F.A.N.Y. Corps is not well known, 
because since the 14th September, 1914, they 
have been too busy over in Flanders and 
France to talk of their work. But the F.A.N.Y. 
Corps that started on active service in the 
person of one woman is increasing steadily, 
and at present over 50 members are working 
in the zone of the armies, and a few more 
are busy in the centre of France in a big 
convalescent camp. Their work is varied : 
motor ambulance work in the actual firing 
line has now given way to motor ambulance 
work at the base ; the first-aid work behind 
the trenches has changed to first a clearing 
hospital and now a base hospital, and the 
excursions to the front with what were then 
much-needed comforts have given place to 
running a big canteen for 700 convalescents. 
Now the F.A.N. Y.'s have fought their way 



2 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 

to recognition, a few of the experiences one 
of them underwent may be of interest. 

Those were strange days when I was alone 
in little Belgium. Antwerp was fiercely 
fought for, and for weeks we worked from 
morning till night caring for the men who 
were brought in, broken and torn and shat- 
tered. Ah ! it made my heart ache and my 
eyes wet, but I did my best. They were 
heroes, these men : they did not cry nor 
grumble nor complain ; they smiled, they 
called me " Petite sceur," and nothing I did 
failed to please them — though in much I was 
clumsy and unskilful. There were so many 
of them — in all the hospital about 200 ; but 
on the floor I worked on 64, and some would 
die and be carried out on a stretcher with a 
sheet over them, and some would rise and 
dress and walk out ; but what hurt one most 
were the evacuations. 

An evacuation means to empty the hospital, 
and it was done when news came that the 
Germans were coming very near. Then men's 
faces would turn white with horror and with 
fear, women would tremble and turn faint ; 
and we, who had to work, would spend every 



THE ROAD TO LIERRE 3 

ounce of our strength in dressing those poor 
fellows — pulling shirts over their shattered 
bodies, wrapping dressing gowns or coats or 
what we could round them in their weakness 
and suffering. We carried them down long 
stairs on stretchers, even on camp beds if 
there were not enough stretchers ; we ran 
down stairs with mattresses and lifted them 
off the stretchers on to the mattress, for we had 
to take the stretchers to bring down others ; 
and to some of these men each movement 
meant agony. This used to happen once a 
week at least ! And then very often, after 
having been taken to the station on a tramcar, 
the men would all be brought back and have 
to be carried upstairs again and put back to 
bed. 

Then one afternoon I went out with a 
motor ambulance to just behind where fight- 
ing was. We met a cyclist who said he wanted 
help at a lonely trench to take men away 
and so we went. There was a little brick hut 
or stables, and there the car stopped, and 
before I got out from inside, the chauffeur 
and the cyclist and the owner, who was with 
us, were running hard along the road. It 



4 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 

was fiat country, and the road was alongside 
a deep ditch ; and a few little thin trees were 
along the roadside. Far away I could see 
cottages here and there, and there was a lot 
of noise all round. I was running after the 
men, when suddenly something made my 
heart stop and then thump hard. I slowed 
down and looked all round, and the sun glit- 
tered on a silver medal on my breast and 
held my eye. I put the medal into my 
pocket, and a feeling of awful loneliness came 
over me. I was alone, quite alone — there was 
nobody English near me. At that moment I 
longed for an Englishman. Then I looked 
behind — the ambulance looked safe and stolid, 
somehow ; then I looked ahead. The men 
who had come with me were jumping down 
into a trench. I had never seen a trench, 
but I felt it was one, and into my heart and 
brain came something I had never felt before, 
I looked up at the little clouds of smoke 
breaking in the sky ; I looked ahead and 
saw great clouds of smoke bursting from the 
ground ; and I suddenly felt a great exultation, 
and I ran — ran my hardest — and stood on 
the edge of the trench and looked in. There 



THE ROAD TO LIERRE 5 

were three or four figures there, very still, in 

big blue coats, but I hardly noticed them. 

Two men were lifting a man out and putting 

him across a third man's back, and a man 

wearing a heavy uniform coat, with a ragged, 

untidy moustache, and a white face was 

trying to climb out of the trench. One of his 

legs was all torn, — clothing and blood and 

bandage, and I leapt down beside him. Then, 

with his hand in mine and his arm drawn 

round my neck, I pulled and pushed and 

struggled, and we got out and slowly reached 

the road. In front of me two men were 

struggling along, each with an unconscious 

man hanging over his shoulders, and a group 

of soldiers who looked tired and were limping. 

Then suddenly came a terrific noise, so loud 

it dazed me, and all my sense of thought 

seemed gone. I stood quite still, and on my 

left a cloud of dark smoke rose, and a horrid 

smell. I looked all round — I was alone. 

My poor man with the shattered leg ! — where 

was he ? I wheeled slowly round, blinking 

my eyes, and there in the ditch was my 

sufferer, and all the other men. Then, in a 

flash, I knew ! It was a shell that had burst 



6 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 

close beside us. I dashed to the ditch and sat 
down. The men were looking at me with 
stolid unconcern, they were rising — going on. 
I went too. Along that bare road we ran at a 
sort of loping trot. Then through the cloud 
of deafness that still held me I seemed to 
hear a wailing scream, and the three soldiers 
nearest stopped and held on to a little thin 
tree. I stopped too, facing them, looking in 
their faces to question them. To me it was all 
new. I did not understand ; / had had none 
of the horrors they had passed through. All 
/ saw was three white scared faces, with 
fixed eyes, — in them a sort of dumb appeal. 
They were gasping, their lips were black, 
their clothes dirty and stained. A demon 
of mischief woke in me. I thought of a 
cinematograph, of what we must look like 
— four hefty people hanging on in fear to a 
little thin tree ! I laughed ; and their 
white faces and troubled eyes glared at me, 
but they ran on. I followed at their heels, 
and so we reached the ambulance and found 
the chauffeur already there. Two men lay 
on the ground — one very white and still 
unconscious, the other, with wide eyes, moan- 



THE ROAD TO LIERRE 7 

ing. I had some brandy with mc and gave 
him some. We lifted him up, put him on the 
car — it was a beautifully-fitted car ; the side 
came down and outwards, and the first 
stretcher was fitted in its place : then we 
turned a handle, and the stretcher was 
raised without any jolting and the other 
stretcher placed on the board on rails that 
slid inwards, and so, with no jolting, each 
sufferer was safely fixed. Inside were two 
or three folding chairs, and on these we put 
all the men with wounds that permitted them 
to sit down. There were three or four, and 
then there were places for two outside, and 
still there was one man left. The owner of 
the ambulance looked at me, but I shook my 
head and looked at the man who remained ; 
then the owner leapt aside, told the chauffeur 
to go on, and waited with me. There were 
lots of men here, ragged and unwashed heroes, 
but all cheery and brave and smiling. To 
them I was a strange being ; to me they were 
a new revelation. They took me inside and 
showed me the holes in the roof — in the walls, 
in the floors ; the bar, where broken glass and 
china lay scattered still ; the yard behind, 



8 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 

where a dead pig raised a stench of protest 
to the sky. One lad went to where the shell 
had burst and brought me a piece of it, a 
long, thin, jagged bit of iron with cruel edges. 
He gave it me with a smile, and his fellows 
watched me and wondered. 

" You are not afraid ? " one man asked, 
and seemed to wonder when I laughed. 

" You are brave," said another ; but I 
laughed and shook my head vigorously. 

" But you were really not frightened ? " 
a sergeant had to ask, and when I looked up 
at him and said, " Yes, I was really frightened, 
terribly frightened, for a little time," he 
shook his head and shrugged his shoulders. 

Then the car came back, and we got the 
blesse inside ; I sat outside with the driver, 
and the owner sat beside us. We left the 
wounded in a hospital in Antwerp. After 
this we drove to the English headquarters, 
and there we found cars and cars, dozens of 
them, and soldiers and a few sailors. A staff 
officer looked surprised to meet me, but we 
got the directions we wanted and went on. 

This time it was another lonely poste, 
empty houses by the roadside, and crowds of 



THE ROAD TO LIERRE 9 

soldiers ; plenty of wounded, too, but most 
of them already bandaged. We filled the car 
and sent them in, and I waited for its return. 
This time the owner could not wait ; he had 
to go, and so I was left alone. The men were 
curious, but very courteous ; they all wanted 
to talk — to know if I was an officer, to ask if 
I had helped many wounded, to know why 
I left England and my home to come and 
help the Belgians. 

One man picked me a bunch of flowers ; 
another took me to see the inside of a little 
cottage : the room was empty, tables and 
chairs thrown on the floor, a few little china 
ornaments, cheap and tawdry, still stood in a 
cupboard in a corner of the room, and there 
was a hole in the wall high up — a great gaping 
hole .... 

Outside on the road men galloped past, or 
motor cars whizzed by, and heavy wagons 
trundled along. Artillery rolled past, the 
men all turning to salute the Englishwoman 
in khaki in their midst. The sun was setting, 
and far away the loud roar of guns cut the 
evening stillness. This was war ! Up the 
road slowly came two men on horseback — 



io A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 

they stopped to ask the way ; they had a 
message for the British lines : behind them 
where a hedge jutted on to the road came a 
man in khaki afoot. My eyes brightened — 
one of our own men. I felt suddenly proud. 
The men round me pointed him out. I 
nodded ; they said to the two men on horse- 
back, " Why not ask him ? " The two men 
replied in Flemish and rode off. He came 
slowly, very slowly. My pride at seeing him 
began to wane. He started every few steps, 
and looked fearfully behind him — he dragged 
along. I went to meet him ; my heart was 
burning. The men round me were watching 
him, and something within me resented it. 
He wore khaki — he was a British soldier. 

I stopped and waited ; he had seen me. 
Every Belgian soldier saluted and smiled 
every time I met them. This man — in khaki 
like myself — did not salute ; he shambled 
up to me — hardly even stopped. 

" Are you hurt ? " I asked. 

" No." 

" Where are you going ? " 

" To " (naming the nearest English 

trenches three kilometres away). 



THE ROAD TO LIERRE n 

" Are you tired ; wouldn't you rather ride 
or go in a car ? I'll ask a lift for you if you 
like ! " 

" No ; I'm safer walking. I've been in with 
a message, and I'm going back." 

" Do you know the way ? " 

" Oh, I'll find it ! " 

He refused a ride in a car. Two or three 
of. the men I had been talking to spoke to 
him, but he just stared at them and did not 
answer. 

He was in no hurry to go on. He told me 
suddenly that he never wanted to ride in a 
car again. He had seen a Belgian officer 
driving a car, with a priest beside him, just a 
short time before ; then a shell burst, and the 
officer's head went into the road, and the car 
and the priest went on a few yards before the 
car swerved and came to a violent halt. He 
looked for sympathy. I returned his look 
coldly, for I was too new at the game to 
realise what nerve-strain those gallant fellows 
had to undergo. Many a time since have I 
regretted my hardness, my stupid lack of 
understanding, for the poor lad had been 
through hell ! 



12 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 

" It was an awful sight," he muttered, 
still staring over his shoulder. 

" It was ; I saw it," I said quietly. 

He went on down the road, walking beside 
a Belgian on horseback — a good-natured 
fellow, who promised me he would show him 
the way. I wished the car would come ; I 
felt suddenly depressed. The cheery crowd of 
Belgian soldiers were too cheery. I resented 
it. I knew what they had gone through — 
weeks of weary warfare in the trenches, 
their country in danger, their homes ruined, 
their women and children murdered and tor- 
tured. And they smiled and talked and 
spoke with wonder of the courage, of the 
devotion, of the English ! And I saw that 
shambling figure in khaki, starting at every 
shadow, looking fearfully over its shoulder. 



CHAPTER II 

MALINES, BUCHEROUT, AND VIEUX DIEU 

One day I was out as usual. The car came 
for me at 9.30, and we went out to the collect- 
ing stations, loaded up, sent the men in, and 
I waited, doing dressings, for the car to 
return. One day we went to an old church 
in the centre of Malines ; the beautiful 
cathedral was desolate and shattered, the 
windows knocked out, parts of the wall fallen 
in. All round were houses and cottages 
battered and rent, empty rooms and broken 
furniture ; it was a sad sight. And out there 
in the convent church were sadder sights ! 
The sacristy was filled with packets of cotton- 
wool and bandages, bottles of iodine, and a 
precious — very precious — bottle of chloro- 
form. In here I went to find two men who 
had just been carried in : one we took off 
the stretcher and laid face downwards on a 
table ; he was shot through the buttocks, 



i 4 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 

and lay without murmuring. The other — 
poor fellow ! — was a big, strong man about 
five and thirty ; he was tenderly laid on a 
table, his feet and legs propped up with chairs, 
his shirt cut ofi as gently as possible. One 
arm huns? by a thread of flesh from the 
shoulder, and bled — always bled — though the 
tourniquet was as tight as possible ; the dark 
blood oozed through steadily and fell with a 
constant drip, drip. He was shot through the 
diaphragm, too, and, although I was not well 
acquainted with death then, even I could tell 
his days were numbered. His face, livid and 
twisted with pain, looked towards ns ; he 
cried in a strange voice and a strange tongue, 
for in those days I knew no Flemish. A sur- 
geon was there, a tall, clever Englishman, and 
he injected saline. His quick, deft movements 
fascinated me — I longed to help. Once he 
looked me full in the eyes, and it seemed to me 
he wondered what I felt, and I think the pity 
in my eyes must have answered him. A nurse 
was there, an English nurse. She was crying 
as she held the man down, for he was strug- 
gling — and to me that, too, was strange ; and 
suddenly she ran away sobbing, so I slipped up 



MALINES, BUCHEROUT, VIEUX DJEU rs 

and took her place. The surgeon glanced at 
me keenly and was apparently satisfied, and 
so, as the poor fellow struggled and twisted, 
we held him. I had one arm and side ; a 
priest held the other, and two Belgian women, 
in while overalls and caps with big red cr< 
on them, stroked his lace and bent over him, 
speaking to him soothingly in his mother 
tongue. He shouted and writhed, and at last 
his head fell back : then, with a mighty effort, 
he raised himself and opened his mouth to 
speak ; but only a stream of blood rushed 
forth, and a brave soul had gone to its God ! 

The chapel was empty as I knelt to whisper 
a prayer for the dead, and passed on into the 
Outer chapel, where, to my horror, I saw 
three English women in weird and wonderful 
costumes having tea, laughing and talking ; 
it was like a tourist party attending a funeral. 
Something of what I felt was, perhaps, shared 
by an English doctor. He looked at the 
women inside ; he took a long breath of fresh 
air and gasped out : 

" My God, there's too much joy-riding 
about this to please me ! " 

At that moment a stray shell landed in 



16 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 

the courtyard, far away from us, but very 
near a sturdy little English chauffeur who 
had just entered ! However, it did no 
harm beyond churning a hole in the yard. 

From there I went to a little barricade at 
a small village, Hofstade ; and here were 
Belgians who had that very morning at 3 a.m. 
driven the Germans out of the ruins they now 
held. (That night the Germans took it again 
— to hold it for good.) From a steep embank- 
ment one could see the woods where the 
Germans were in hiding, and see the country 
burning all round, for both Belgians and 
Germans were trying to burn all woods and 
any sort of " cover." It was a desolate scene. 
Here was a fine young priest with a brassard 
on his arm, and a haversack with " First Aid 
Dressings " on his shoulders ; he had been 
busy all that night and all that early morning 
succouring his brothers-in-arms spiritually and 
physically. He was a powerfully-built man, 
and I said to him, did he find it a very hard 
life ? 

" Not hard enough," he replied, " if only 
I could kill too 1 " 

He spoke with simple regret ; for he, too, 



MALINES,BUCHEROUT,VIEUXDIEU 17 

had looked upon war and its horrors. He 
was the minister of the Lord Christ, and he 
burned to revenge the devilish deeds that had 
been perpetrated. 

I wandered behind one cottage, and saw a 
strange heap ; the chauffeur looked at me and 
held his nose. 

" It is not healthy to be here," he said ; 
but I did not answer, and he came to see why 
I looked with an awful horror in my face. 
The smell was enough to knock one down in 
ordinary times, but in those days, mentally 
and physically, I could endure tremendous 
strain. . . . 

A gendarme followed and joined us, and we 
all stood with our eyes fixed on the charred 
and blackened body that lay there. I had 
never known a human skeleton would look 
so small when the flesh was gone round it. 
Then involuntarily we looked at the tiny 
cottage, of which the walls still stood ; and 
little tawdry gilt figures were on the shelves 
inside ; even a child's cradle lay there — 
broken, it is true. 

The chauffeur showed me brass candlesticks 
he had looted. I looked at him in wonder ; 



1 8 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 

I could not think of such things then, with 
this little village of ruined cottages under my 
eyes. With him I made a tour of the other 
houses : everywhere hurried preparation for 
flight — beds with the blankets still thrown 
down ; china and glass scattered everywhere. 
One little cheap figure of a child I slipped into 
my pocket, wondering sadly if it had been some 
child's treasure. Then in one house the 
chauffeur hesitated — said I had better not 
come in ; his face was white and his lips shook. 
I looked past him ; and the colour left my 
cheeks too, and tears came to my eyes. A 
baby lav there. — a tiny waxen form with a 
cruel bayonet-thrust through its tender flesh. 
T looked all round. There was only a rough 
blanket, so I laid that over the little martyr, 
and into my heart swept a fury of black 
passion. I thought of the Germans I had 
known who had children, huge families of 
children, and had professed to love children ; 
and on that day I cursed Germany and all 
its people, and I cried to Heaven to avenge 
the blood of the innocent and defenceless. 
Cruel it had been to stand by whilst a strong 
man went out in agony, but crueller was it 



MALINES, BUCHEROUT, VIEUX DIEU 19 
to think of this tender babe foully murdered, 

to picture the mother perhaps ; but no ... . 
I rushed out in a panic ; I must have air — must 
get away from this accursed spot. 

Round Antwerp were miles of barbed wire 
cunningly twisted into an impassable barrier ; 
moats filled with, deep water; earthworks, 
barricades ; it was a wonderful sight ; and 
little did we dream then how futile all these 
would prove. 

One day, after forty-eight hours 1 rain, we 
dashed past a stretch of country close to the 
waterworks : the stench was terrible, thick 
and heavy, and too horrible for words ; the 
soft earth was wet and heavy, and disturbed. 
Others said they saw human limbs sticking 
upwards, protruding from the earth as if in 
appeal to Heaven. I did not look closely — 
J could not. I knew only that 300 corpses 
had been hastily covered with earth after a 
fight a week or two before. 

One day we were at a line of trenches in an 
entirely opposite direction — towards Lierre ; 
there had been many wounded, and the little 
car had made many journeys. Loaded up 
inside and with one man between me and the 



20 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 

chauffeur, we started homewards as the sun 
was setting. I was tired ; as usual, I had 
given my sandwiches to the men who needed 
them more than I, and suddenly I felt very 
hungry and feeble inside. Then to my amaze- 
ment I saw sailors — English sailors — drawn 
up in a big group, and an English doctor in 
naval uniform barred our way. He was about 
as surprised as I was ! He held my hand and 
asked if we could load up one more Belgian 
who was complaining of bad pain in the side, 
and his hand lay on mine as he spoke. His 
face was tired, and his eyes had dark shadows 
under them ; and he was so pleased to see an 
English girl ! We made the Belgian sit where 
I had been, and I stood on the footboard, 
holding on with one hand to the roof of the 
car. On we sped, and the sky was flaming 
red, and suddenly our road lay clear and 
straight through long lines of English blue- 
jackets and marines — miles of them — all 
marching forth with steady tramp and reso- 
lute, kindly faces. How my heart went out 
to them ; and how their ringing friendly 
cheers brought the blood to my face and a 
great joy to my heart ! No more hunger — 



MALINES, BUCHEROUT,VIEUXDIEU 21 

only pride — as these lines of men — my men — 
went out gaily to fight for me and all the 
women of the Empire. 

In the town that night I had to go to six 
hospitals before getting my load out of the 
car. That made me think as I went to sleep 
that night. 

Next morning we started off again. This 
time we got to Bucherout, a small village ; 
and here were English naval doctors working 
against time, and an Irishwoman and her 
little four-seater just arrived to interpret for 
them. Orders for retreat were out, and all the 
wounded were being packed off as quickly as 
cars or carts passed within hail. I had only 
jumped out, when I had to dress a man with a 
bullet in his arm — I could feel the bullet. 
The wounded were lying everywhere — on the 
pavement, propped against the walls. My 
little car was quickly loaded and sent off : 
then came a naval ambulance from the front 
with a man shot to pieces on one stretcher ; 
a shattered thigh on the stretcher underneath ; 
a broken arm and a shrapnel in the head 
opposite. The doctor, the same whom I had 
met the night before, looked very weary ; he 



22 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 

could only give morphia to the top man, and 
from there we went to an A.S.C. cart just 
arrived with six more. We had to unload them, 
as the cart had to go on for ammunition and 
go back. One man was very bad ; a dear old 
Scotchman carried another on his back to the 
doorway and set him down. I was raiding the 
empty houses for blankets, pillows, mattresses. 
Then the Irishwoman went off full speed with 
her car and chauffeur to get St. John's men 
and a motor 'bus. She shoved some sand- 
wiches into my hand. 

" Make the doctors eat something," she said, 
and I cornered one — asked him if he could 
spare two minutes inside the doorway. He 
looked at me with tired surprise — imagining, 
probably I was feeling faint ! — and acceded. 
He followed me inside and 1 slipped round and 
barred the doorway by standing against it. 

" Eat that," I said firmly—" quick ! "—and, 
laughing, he did so when I assured him there 
were more for the other doctors. He had been 
working all night, and he couldn't remember 
having had anything to eat ; he thought he'd 
had a cup of coffee " somewhere about 
6 o'clock " ! ! 



MAL1NES,BUCHER0UT,VIEUXDIEU 23 

The motor 'bus arrived at length with 
twenty St. John's men — fine workers and 
skilful. We helped all those who could go 
upstairs, and many who were not fit to go on 
top ; one, a St. John's man and I carried up 
between us — no easy job on a 'bus stairs ! 
There was one very badly wounded man on the 
pavement. I begged the doctor to let him be, 
but he shook his head. " He may live some 
time," he said, " and we must get him out of 
the way." Shells were not far off and shrapnel 
everywhere near, so I suppose he was right, 
and I helped to arrange the poor fellow on 
the floor of the 'bus. I had a presentiment 
he was going, and I knelt by him till the 'bus 
was ready to start. He was struggling. 
A nice St. John's man who had been helping 
me was to accompany that load. 

" I think he is beginning to die," I said ; 
" couldn't we put him out and let him go in 
peace ? " 

The man bent over him. 

" It looks like it," said he, " but we'd better 
take him." 

Later on that same bearer came to me to 
tell me the man had died ten minutes after 



24 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 

i he 'bus started. It seems a dreadful 
nightmare, the memory of these men tor- 
tured and suffering, British and Belgian ; but 
all that day there was so much to do I 
could not grasp the horror of it. One load 
came in with a Belgian boy, quite young, 
with a broken leg J he was shrieking with 
pain. The doctor put it in splints ; he wanted 
to give him morphia. I begged the boy to 
have morphia, but he refused violently, and 
so with piercing screams and racking sobs 
of agony we had to load him on to a motor 
'bus and let him go ; his terror of morphia 
was greater than the agony he endured. 

A gallant English marine was brought in 
with his jaw shot away and one arm pierced ; 
lie was quite conscious and must have suffered 
horribly, but he lay quiet, with never a 
murmur. The) were all heroes ; they would 
find time in the midst of their pain to say 
u Thank you, Sister," when I gave them some- 
thing to drink or slipped cushions under 
them. Main' a journey my little car made 
that day — filled each time. A big bread 
wagon came along and I commandeered it ; 
the sergeant at first demurred, but he quickly 



M ALINES, BUCHEROUT, VIEUX DIEU 25 

entered into the spirit of it. We spread a 
big blanket in a gateway and turned out all 
the bread. I elimbed into the cart and passed 
the huge loaves out ! Then I dragged the 
sergeant to an empty house, and we got 
mattresses and blankets and cushions, and 
made the bottom of that cart comfortable. 

The doctor came along and was delighted. 
" That's splendid," he said; and soon we 
loaded in wounded and the cart went off. 

All this time we were watching the signal to 
emit. If the artillery went down a certain 
road, we had to go, Troops were passing in all 
directions. Winston Churchill— then First 
Lord of the Admiralty— rushed past in a car 
many times with Colonel Seely, going back- 
wards and forwards from Vieux Dieu to the 
trenches. For an hour and a half there came 
a lull, and lots of St. John's men and a few 
soldiers in khaki joined us. Suddenly a call 
came for a car to go to an outpost to bring in 
three wounded, it was a matter of four kilo- 
metres, and the road was being shelled all 
the way. Luckily my little ambulance was 
waiting, and off we went. There were one or 
two other cars on the road, and we passed an 



26 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 

open car with a stretcher slung across the 
back seats. We got to the outpost, a lonely 
building, and there was an Englishman with 
a little Belgian cap on his head ! He was 
attached to the Belgian service : a brave man 
he was ; I met him again and again, and 
always where there was danger, but he had 
no fear. We ran the car alongside, and then 
we all bolted for our lives round the corner of 
the house, and with an ear-splitting skirl a 
shell came on the roadway and ploughed a 
huge hole and brought a tree down. It stopped 
short of the car by less than a dozen yards. 
We waited quite a long time before the priest 
and the soldier who had gone to carry back 
the wounded appeared, and the Englishman 
showed me an enormous shrapnel case he was 
going to take away as a trophy. 

When we drove back to the dressing station 
at Bucherout the St. John's men cheered, 
and one came up to me and gave me a pear. 
I wanted him to keep it, but he looked so 
hurt I took it and thanked him ; then another 
man gave me an apple, which I put in my 
pocket. A soldier in khaki came up to me 
shyly with a little bunch of mignonette ; 



MALINES, BUCHEROUT, VIEUX DIEU 27 

it almost brought tears to my eyes, for it 
suddenly made me think of a quiet garden 
with one corner overrun with mignonette, 
and my mother in a shady garden hat lean- 
ing on her stick, for it was her favourite 
plant. 

In the evening our work grew lighter, and 
at last I myself stood on the footboard to 
accompany the last load in. The Belgian 
Military Pharmacy had arrived before I left — 
a big caravan drawn by two horses, and 
stocked with every possible medicament, also 
bandages and thousands of first field dress- 
ings. I had been busy interpreting too, for 
none of the doctors spoke French. Before I 
left I was commissioned by the Senior Medical 
Officer to get a complete list of all the British 
wounded in Antwerp, for no records had been 
kept ; they were put in all and any passing 
vehicles, and by them dropped at any hospitals 
in the town. It is true cars were given the 
names of the hospitals to go to, but these were 
often full, and the cars had to go on to others 
turn by turn till they could leave the men. 
My Belgian friend, the owner of the ambulance, 
undertook to get the returns for me ; and sure 



28 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 

enough next morning he had it all ready for 
me, and sorry I am I did not keep it ! 

We ran out early towards Bucherout, but 
what was my amazement to find Vieux Dieu 
deserted, the English headquarters empty, 
and shells bursting in the streets ! 

A big car with British staff officers came 
towards us and stopped, and I ran round and 
asked them whether Bucherout was still the 
collecting station, and where the wounded 
were. The man I spoke to first was very 
worried. He said he did not know where the 
wounded were ; he added : " Go back at 
once ; this is no place for an ambulance. 
The firing line is 200 yards from here." 

The man opposite him, a clean-shaven, 
strong-faced officer, did not seem so agitated, 
so I appealed to him, but he knew nothing 
either. So we drove on to some Belgian 
soldiers we saw in the distance, and they said 
there must be wounded, but they didn't 
know where ; anyway, the road wasn't too 
dangerous if mademoiselle stayed behind ! 

Mademoiselle laughed and went on ; and 
there was Bucherout, so busy yesterday, 
deserted ! — not a sign of life, nothing but two 



MALINES, BUCHEROUT, VIEUX DIEU 29 

black dogs who came to me for sympathy. 
There, too, we met a little group of marines 
wheeling a wounded Belgian in a barrow ; 
they had stopped to replace the bandage on 
his leg, which had got swamped with blood. 
I jumped out, and one sailor said to the man 
who was bandaging, " Let Sister do it." 

They were a very forlorn little band — had 
no idea where they were going nor where 
Antwerp lay, and knew no French. They had 
saved six stretchers, which I slung upon the 
roof of the car. I told them the way (straight 
forwards) and one boy — he was perhaps 
seventeen — said to me, with a quiver in his 
voice, " We couldn't help it, Sister ; we had 
to go. We were shot down and couldn't 
help ourselves ; we had no guns." 

It was the first time I heard that pathetic 
cry — " We had no guns." The next day and 
the next, and for many a week afterwards, I 
was to hear it — the unspoken lament, the 
mute reproach ; and many a time when 
wounded men have turned to me for strength, 
and dying men have held my hand in an 
anguished farewell to life, and women have 
clung to me sobbing, and I myself have felt 



3 o A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 

courage and hope and faith break within me 
over the cold faces of the best-beloved and 
the nearest of kin, these words have leapt to 
life again and struck me across the eyes — 
" We had no guns." 

What happened to the Belgian in the 
barrow ? He was helped inside the ambulance, 
and we ran further on to look for wounded. 
We met a few Belgian soldiers — fourteen, I 
think — and they were all excited, and some had 
held to their rifles and some had thrown them 
away, and one, a non-commissioned officer, 
told us a long tale. He spoke of the English 
who had come to save Antwerp ; he spoke of 
these men in their trenches and the great 
German guns that swept them like a scourge. 
He spoke of the Marine Light Infantry, and 
the handful of them that started to charge 
the German guns across three miles of country, 
and he even muttered something of the harvest 
these guns reaped — because the English had 
no guns. Then he ended up with the tale of 
the English throwing down their cartridges 
and rifles. . . . Retreat is an ugly tale to 
hear — an uglier thing to come to grips with. 
My chauffeur tried to check the narrator, and 



MALINES,BUCHEROUT,VIEUXDIEU 31 

tried to show his sympathy with me. He had 
seen me come tearless and dry-eyed from 
many a pitiful sight — he had been with me 
when death seemed certain — so now he turned 
away from the suffering in my eyes and the 
mist that would blot everything else out. 

Then came the wounded — four of them — 
and a man who spoke of Englishmen in a 
trench with no one to help them, and he 
wanted to go to English headquarters to tell 
them where to send help ; so back we sped, 
and stopped to take up one marine to look 
after their stretchers. 

Later on we ran out another road to the 
Chateau de Troyenhem, and near here we 
found an English doctor with everything ready. 
He was calm and confident, and quite amazed 
to think outside help was offered him ! His 
preparations were complete — his " dug-out " 
shelters shell-proof ; he was very confident. 
Yet next day he was gone, and only his shell- 
proof shelters remained for the Germans ! 
So back we went to Vieux Dieu, and there 
found English soldiers and sailors making 
trenches and building a big barricade across 
the road to Bucherout. The chauffeur looked 



32 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 

ahead and asked if mademoiselle were afraid 
to go. Mademoiselle said there was no ques- 
tion of fear, but of wounded ; it' there were 
wounded the car must go. And so it went, 
and inside 1 cast a Frantic look back at the 

khaki and bluejackets — there 1 felt lay safety. 

Then overhead the singing Tilled the air — 

\Y hi. '.'/.-'/ '/.-'///. . . . boom. . . . WhizZ-ZZ . . . 
boom . . . ei-ei-ei-ei-vah J and I felt SO lonely. 

1 crouched down in a corner, and then 1 wrote 

a note on a slip o\ paper with my mother's 
address on it and slipped it into my tunic 
pocket ; and then 1 knelt down and prayed, 
and with the prayer my imagination lost its 
force, and I could look calmly out on the bare 
road, and not feel desolate, because there was 

no other living thing there. The dead horses 

were sad, and at Bucherout the houses 

battered and fallen, were sad ; and I called 
and whistled and searched for the two black 

dogs, but got no reply. 

We drew Up for a few minutes. The intense 
stillness was rather terrifying, and 1 think 
otir nerves were strung up, for a whiz of 
shrapnel that came very close made tis jump 
violently, and my companions bolted like 




riNS <'l'' A 



A ^ 



\r * 





u- 



kl* 



W II I RE A BOMB FELL. 



MALINES, BUCHEROUT, VIEUX DIEU 33 

rabbits and crawled under the back of the car ! 
I followed them blindly, but there was no 
room for me ; I could only crouch down, 
wondering what was going to happen. Then 
the crash of falling masonry at very close 
quarters relieved the tension, and up we got, 
and I think the chauffeur broke all speed 
records on that return trip ! It was a wonder- 
ful thing to get back inside that barrier, to 
run in with only a quarter-inch to spare 
between sandbags piled high, and the moment 
we were through to see that gap rilled up. I 
reported to the medical officer there, and he 
took me to his " hospital " in the fort — great 
stone cellars they looked like, all these rooms 
so carefully guarded with the earth all round 
them. 

The doctor had no dressings (someone had 
forgotten to supply them !),and so I sent my 
car in to Antwerp with a chit to get more 
dressings from the Belgian Red Cross. Also 
I gave the chauffeur all the money I had with 
me, and told him to bring white bread and 
butter and cheese ; then I was offered some 
sandbags for a seat, and watched the men 
building. That was interesting and amusing. 



34 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 

There were Belgian soldiers who stood round 
watching the British building and strength- 
ening the barrier ; then a Belgian sergeant 
came and ordered them to take bags and 
build too. Some of them smiled ; some 
of them winked at each other. One man 
winked at me, as much as to say, " Our brave 
sergeant ; he's showing off ! " The sergeant 
seized bags himself and swung them into 
place. Outside the ever-growing barrier a 
marine officer was directing his men. He was 
swinging the heavy bags into place himself — 
pointing out weaker places ; he was a good 
officer. Once he paused to wipe the perspira- 
tion off his brow, and leaned against the wall 
of sandbags, and, so leaning, discovered me 
watching him. His eyes opened wide. Doubt- 
less in his heart he said " What the devil is 
a woman doing here ? " but he merely smiled 
and saluted. 

1, too, swung a sandbag into place — laid 
one tiny bit of the wall that was to keep the 
Germans out — but did not. Along to the left 
the marines and the Naval Brigade were toil- 
ing, making beautiful roofs to their trenches 
— dragging heavy wooden beams into place, 



MALINES,BUCHEROUT,VIEiJXDIEU 35 

and on them supporting hundreds of sandbags 
and big sods of earth. Soon the trench became 
like a long hut — comfortably screened from 
rain and wind, and shell-resisting. For hours 
they worked, these big, strong men of ours, 
all looking good-tempered and jolly. Close 
to and behind one end of the trench were two 
stone houses, high and narrow, and towering 
over the barriers. I asked one of the officers 
if they were going to blow them up, remarking 
that if a shell hit them they would collapse in 
the trench and kill the men there. 

He absolutely exploded : 

" We have been asking all day to have that 
house taken down — and we can't." 

" Why not ? " I asked, astonished. " Can't 
you do it ? " (He wore three stars.) 

" No, it's all red tape ; a fussy old staff 
officer came along and said they were not to 
be touched." 

Instance of red tape that made me gasp at 
such a time. Never had I realised what 
victims it claims ; and that evening, when I 
left these particular forts, I was witness of 
another distressing example of it. The same 
old " fusser " came along and ordered all the 



36 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 

splendid roof to be taken off the trench ; 
the protection these men had worked hour 
after hour to build was condemned because 
the supports were solid tree trunks (all the 
material available) wedged in with sandbags 
and earth ; and the text-book said iron 
supports should be used, as wood might 
catch fire ! My heart ached for them ; it was 
already dusk, and instead of warm covered 
trenches they would have to pull down their 
sheltering roof and live in the open trench, 
for there was no iron to be got. The men were 
disheartened and furious, and many a curse 
fell on that staff officer's head, and personally 
I think he deserved them. 

However, to return to the earlier hours of 
the afternoon. 

My chauffeur returned armed with loaves 
and two huge cheeses and butter, and a big 
scaled drum of sterilised dressings. The 
doctor loaded up some men with the food, and 
I carried a big cheese, and we made a quaint 
procession following the winding footway that 
led through wire entanglements to a narrow 
plank bridge and so into the fort itself. 

When I got back one of the young naval 



MALINES,BUCHEROUT,VIEUXDIEU 37 

division stretcher-bearers came to me. It was 
the same boy whom I had met near Bucherout 
— with the little party who had lost their way 
and had the Belgian in the barrow. He 
explained on behalf of the little band that 

they had no rations, as they belonged to 

Company, which they could not find, and were 

now with Company (one being " Colling- 

wood " and one " Drake "), and so, as only 
strict rations were issued, they had no food. 
He was a nice lad ; I hope he got safely 
through what followed. 

Whilst all this work was going on the blue 
sky above was very peaceful, and up there 
floated placidly a large captive balloon, fur- 
nished with a wireless telegraphy apparatus. 
The Germans were calmly surveying all the 
English preparations, and sending down to 
their artillery the new range of distance ! 
I demanded to know why we couldn't shoot 
the balloon or send an aeroplane to attack 
it and drop bombs on the German guns, 
but was told all the Allies' aeroplanes had left 
for Ghent two or three days ago, to avoid 
possibility of capture ! 

Suddenly about 5 o'clock a new noise made 



38 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 

itself heard — a deep boom-boom ; this was 
the one and only Long Tom, which had 
been out of action since 5 o'clock in the 
morning owing to the cement having given 
way. 

Shortly after this I left with a young Naval 
Brigade officer carrying despatches for the 
Commodore. Running through Vieux Dieu, 
we were stopped by a mob of people — weep- 
ing women and gesticulating men. Two poor 
women were alone in their house, and a man 
had started looting it, a rough civilian of the 
working class. Heedless of the two women 
he carried chairs and clocks and wine from 
the house to a little cart. A few yards farther 
on some soldiers and some civilians were 
drinking coffee and beer outside a little 
restaurant. We stopped whilst the owner of 
the ambulance scolded the thief, comforted 
the women, fetched two soldiers from their 
coffee to guard the house, and handed the 
man over to their charge. About two miles 
beyond we met a Belgian regiment bivouack- 
ing for the night, fetched the commandant, 
drove him back with two military policemen ; 
he arrested the looter, ordered him to be shot. 



MALINES, BUCHEROUT, VIEUX DIEU 39 

and returned with us to his regiment. At 
last we arrived at the Commodore's head- 
quarters. The gallant despatch-bearer had 
told me a moving tale of his long day without 
food, and I had proudly presented him with a 
pear which a St. John's man had given me 
the day before and which I had kept for 
emergency ; also I found a last scrap of 
chocolate. I forgot to tell him I had had one 
slice of plain bread and a chunk of cheese 
since 8 o'clock that morning, nor did he ask. 
True he was a little reluctant to take the 
pear, and ate the chocolate slowly without 
undue display of hunger. 

When, therefore, he had disappeared up 
the long dark avenue with his despatches, I 
stamped about the road to keep warm, and 
then saw a light in what seemed a cottage in 
the grounds. I hesitated, then went boldly 
in, and knocked on the door to ask for a cup 
of hot coffee for the poor lad when he came 
out. To my astonishment, a big bluejacket 
appeared, and was as delighted to see me as 
I was surprised to see him. He overwhelmed 
me with offers of chicken broth, but I begged 
for a cupful for my despatch bearer ; however, 



40 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 

I was induced to accept coffee and biscuits, 
and thankful I was to have them. I was 
taken into a parlour with what had once 
been beautiful furniture, and whilst I was 
having my coffee a sturdy, sailorly-looking 
man came in, and we chatted. He was full of 
an expected division that must have taken 
the wrong roads, and looked worried to a 
degree. Then he retired, and I curled up on a 
sofa in a corner, feeling terribly sleepy and 
tired ; in fact I was just dropping off to sleep 
when an aide-de-camp entered. We had a 
long talk, and amongst other things I told 
him of the despatch-bearer's long day without 
food, and to my surprise (also relief) I learnt 
that the starving officer had already been for 
lunch at headquarters at noon ! He entered 
himself after long delay, and felt rather 
shamefaced, I think, about his little desire 
to appear a romantic figure suffering pangs 
of hunger. He was very young, and I chuckled 
over his discomfiture many a time. 

Meantime the aide-de-camp had entrusted 
me with his sword (for repairs), and armed 
with it I clanked back to the ambulance, 
where the chauffeur was much impressed by 



MALINES,BUCHEROUT,VIEUX D1EU 41 

my appearance with the wonderful sword at 
my side. 

(He returned to his confreres later with a 
great tale of his English miss, who had been 
presented with a sword for her gallantry ! ! !) 

After reconducting our naval officer to his 
fort, we returned to Antwerp, and I swung into 
the hospital with great swank — sword clank- 
ing ! To my dismay, appeared the head doctor. 

" Oh, Miss So-and-So ; take off that sword ; 
we mustn't have weapons in a hospital ! " 

I gasped, and quickly explained I was only 
in charge of the sword. 

However, to return. After supper I was 
filling some big jugs of water for the night 
nurses from the well (the waterworks having 
been shattered a few days earlier when Walhem 
was taken), and a young officer of the Garde 
Civique was helping me. To him I men- 
tioned that the people whose hospitality I had 
enjoyed all the time I was in Antwerp had 
left, and I had nowhere to go for the night. 
He promptly fetched his mother, who lived 
two doors away, and with whom another 
nurse was billeted, and she begged me to 
sleep in their cellar, which was furnished as a 



42 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 

bedroom. I accepted gratefully, and retired 
there about 10 o'clock, very weary. After 
the usual " indaba " with my hostess and her 
family, I washed in the kitchen sink, and got 
into bed and wrote up my diary. That took 
some time, and as midnight was striking I 
closed it, turned off the electric light (which 
was actually in the cellar), and was snuggling 
down in my pillows, when, zvkizz-zz-zz . . . 
boom, came the first shrapnel over Antwerp. 



CHAPTER III 

ANTWERP THE BOMBARDMENT AND FLIGHT 

That was a terrible night. For two and a 
half hours we worked carrying men down- 
stairs — the top floor first, with its 69 beds to 
clear (for that night there were extra beds 
in the corridor), then the second floor, and 
lastly the fracture wards on the first floor, 
though to me that seemed a mistake. It was 
down slowly with a heavy stretcher, and up 
rapidly with an empty one. I made slings for 
myself with a bandage, but even then my 
wrists and legs ached after the first ten men. 

One dresser I helped time after time — I 
think we two carried down 30 cases alone. 
Into one ward on the second floor I went to 
see if I could help, but found the London 
surgeon (who did all the worst operations there) 
with another doctor and two dressers in con- 
sultation over a very bad case. I turned to go 
out, when the great man saw me and called 



44 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 

cheerily : " Ah here's Miss So-and-so ; now 
we'll be all right ! " 

I swallowed a lump in my throat ; at that 
time when I was alone a friendly greeting 
meant very much to me. 

Down below, the scene was a terrible one. 
The kitchen was in the basement, also many 
offices (scullcr\% wash-place, passages), and 
these were now a mass of helpless men — some 
on mattresses, some on rugs — all exhausted 
with suffering and want of rest, racked by the 
pain of their wounds, but brave as the gods of 
old. 

No murmurs, no complaints — although 
many a broken cry for water made one's heart 
ache. One poor sailor lay on the landing of the 
staircase to the basement ; he had had an eye 
shot out and was half delirious, and his cry 
for water was very pitiful. Another man, 
very badly wounded in the side, caught my 
eye : he was lying on the stone floor with no 
mattress ; I got him some cushions. One 
man with broken legs yelled with pain as we 
lifted him on and off the stretcher. Some of 
the men tried to cheer the others up. Gradu- 
ally the lights were lowered and the stretcher- 



ANTWERP— THE BOMBARDMENT. 45 

bearer's work finished, and I slipped upstairs 
and brought a mattress down for the man with 
the bad wound in the side. 

Upstairs coffee and bread and treacle were 
going ; and most comforting it was. Then the 
hospital showed a strange sight. Down in 
the entrance hall lay silent figures. On a 
bench behind the door sat a doctor and the 
sister-in-charge : the steps were crowded with 
doctors, dressers, and nurses, all huddled 
together, with a few patients in between. 
Outside there was a clear moon and pure air, 
and outside I went with my burberry on, 
dragged a wooden bench to the middle of the 
courtyard, and lay down. Whizz-z-z . . . 
boom. At steady intervals came the shrapnel 
through the air, cutting the silence like a 
knife — once or twice coming so near I leapt 
up and ran to the wall, crouching down with 
bitten lips. Then back to the bench. Dr. 
Hoyle came out with blankets ; but the horror 
of dirt was more to me than the cold of the 
night, bitter though it was, and, finding me 
set on this point, he kindly fetched newspapers 
and spread them over me. As he was talking 
the night sister joined us ; she sent me out 



46 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 

her own big coat to cover me. It was very 
good of her. Once she came out with a utensil 
in her hand, and called a greeting to me, 
when the whizz-z-z came between us, and she 
dropped her china and we met under the 
shadow of the wall, both breathing rather 
hard. 

" Why don't you come in ? " she pleaded ; 
" it's awful being alone out here." 

But I shook my head obstinately. If I were 
to die, I would rather it were outside, with 
God's moon to bear me company. 

I closed my eyes resolutely and tried to 
sleep — tried, at least, to control myself and 
not run to cover. One shrapnel — two, three, 
eight, nine, ten. I began to feel proud of 
myself when eleven came ; the loud hissing 
of it seemed to go through my brain. In 
wild, unreasoning terror I bolted to the wall 
and crouched there, holding my breath, pray- 
ing madly ; and the great boom was followed 
by an appalling crash — part of the house next 
door had gone. Several people came to look 
out — Dr. Hoyle to see if I was safe, Nurse 
Mitchell and Sir Bartle Frere to discuss the 
damage ; and with the last two I went upstairs 



ANTWERP— THE BOMBARDMENT. 47 

to the very top floor, and there, by climbing 
a long ladder, we could see out of a skylight, 
one at a time. It was a weird sight. Dawn was 
coming — very slowly — and here and there 
broken laps of flame told that some shells had 
found a mark. Housetops everywhere, and 
a few heaps of broken masonry (not many), 
and the great, quiet sky, and the whizz-z-z . . . 
boom as a shrapnel sped overhead on its 
deadly errand. 

I was not sorry to climb down and return 
to my bench in the yard. About 4 I went in 
and lay on a sack of potatoes behind the front 
door, — the night sister's coat over me, Dr. 
Hoyle, big and kind and protecting, sitting 
on the bench ; but sleep was not for that day ! 
Soon the sounds of hurrying footsteps drew 
us to the door. Men and women were passing 
carrying odd bits of furniture and little bags of 
clothing. Two men passed, carrying a little 
girl in a chair. Three women passed, sobbing, 
a bundle tied up in a tablecloth in their hands. 
The day was come — this strange day of terror ! 

Very early an Irishwoman attached to the 

hospital and a Miss prepared to go ; 

they had motor cars. They offered to take two 



48 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 

nurses ; only one said she would go, and she 
was suffering from a long strain. They took 
two English officers who were wounded, and 
insisted on one of them leaving his revolver 
behind — the other had none — professing to be 
afraid the Germans would catch them and 
shoot them all if they had firearms on board ! 

I got an early message from the house next 
door to remove my sword ; the people indeed 
offered to bury it in a rubbish heap with the 
Garde Civique uniform belonging to the son 
of the house ! He was very much perturbed 
about his future. I urged him to enlist ; I 
urged his duty to his count ry — vengeance on 
the Germans. Mis parents urged his duty to 
them (they had four sons) and would give 
none of them to fight for their country. 

Events followed fast. Mrs. St. Clair Stobart 
and her secretary came down to ask for help 
in getting away : the}' had 40 patients in a 
convalescent home at the top of the boulevard. 
Lots of wounded came in — one man a horrid 
sight of burns and blood, his face practically 
gone ! The man who brought him in said 
there were crowds of wounded and no one to 
bring them in. It was already long past the 




I II I I I'd' .1 I.I \ I.. 




DIVISION BEING I'lVIIWin ON II RF.TUR1 FROM 

I III l l'l 'III ,. 



ANTWERP— THE BOMBARDMENT. 49 

hour for my ambulance to come for m< 
I walked down to the Place de Meir to the 
Belgian Red Cross headquarters. The streets 
were empty. Once I passed some weeping 
women beside their house, of which two 
storeys had fallen in, and I had to whistle 
to myself and hum snatches of a song as I 
walked to keep my courage up, and every 
shrapnel that whizzed over my head made me 
wonder if anyone would find me if I got 
knocked out then. It was a weird walk, and 
one I have no longing to repeat, although I 
wish sometimes I had been more observant 
of the damage wrought around. 

At last I reached my goal, but found hardly 
a soul there — only an ambulancier I had 
already met, who wrung my hand, muttering 
" Bonne chance, mam'selle," and dashed out. 
Nobody knew of the car, the owner or the 
chauffeur, and as the committee-room door 
was open and the president and two other 
members were there, I asked them. As I went 
out, with a message to take back to the hos- 
pital, the London surgeon and the hospital 
head walked in, and as I stopped to scribble 
a message on a sheet of paper, a terrific crash 



5 o A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 

outside smashed all the windows. I hurried 
to look out ; a shell had killed two people. 
At that instant the three members of the 
Belgian Red Cross walked out and vanished, 
and the two English doctors called to me to 
jump into their car to return. 

With them I went to the English head- 
quarters, and later to the hospital, entrusted 
with the fact that three motor 'buses were to 
come for the wounded and three of the 
nurses and a doctor. I took it on myself, 
therefore, to slip up to the top floor and pack 
boxes full of dressings and bandages, scissors, 
and other necessaries. 

The first detachment was leaving in charge 
of an American doctor, and to him I entrusted 
my suit-case, as everyone expected a " Sauve 
qui petit " later. I took my precious charge 
the sword out also, but to my amazement a 
general outcry was raised, and the doctors and 
nurses would not hear of a sword going. How- 
ever, I felt I should lose it if I kept it, so I 
wrapped it inside the Union Jack and so carried 
it out to one of the 'bus drivers, a sailor, giving 
him a few shillings to see it through ! 

It got to England long before I did, but my 



ANTWERP— THE BOMBARDMENT. 51 

suit-case got lost, with many valued posses- 
sions. 

Later on four other motor 'buses came, 

thanks to the efforts of Dr. B , and into 

these the poor sufferers were crammed ; and 
on the tops a few patients and all the doctors 
and nurses had seats. The chauffeur of a 
gallant Englishwoman who had done a lot of 
splendid rescue work round Antwerp helped 
me to break into the store cupboard and pack 
boxes of provisions — simply because it seemed 
nobody's business to see to it ! 

Off we started, and stopped outside Mrs. 
Stobart's hospital to offer help, but it was 
empty — not a soul was left ; and then, dodg- 
ing the broken electric wires of the tramway 
which were hanging across the road in places, 
we went slowly through the deserted streets. 
Every window was shut and barred ; here and 
there a stolid woman would watch us pass, 
a child raise its hand in greeting. 

Down by the quai the crowd was appalling 
— men and women and children ; 'buses, 
carts, barrows, limousines, taxicabs marked 
" Service Militaire " or protected by Red Cross 
flags : everywhere people pushing and shoving 



52 \ F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 

or waiting Btolidly ; women sobbing and 
women calm and Bmiling ; babies, dozens of 
them, piled on to carts and barrows the 
parents doubtless somewhere in that dense 
throng of humanity. The guns were booming 
in the distance -shrapnel falling on the town. 
Thank God ! they had not yet gbt the range of 
the juai -a shell falling in the midst of that 
crowd did not bear thinking of. Then at last, 
after an hour or an hour and a half of weary 
waiting, whilst officers restrained and con- 
trolled the people and kept their own irritation 
in check— and it must have been intense! — 
the order came to move, and slowly the four 
'buses, packed with sufferers, rolled over the 
pontoon bridge, and all around the yellow sky 
and the setting sun seemed to cast a halo 
on the forsaken town. It was then that Sir 
Bartle Frere, who shared the back seat of the 

*buS with me, rose. 

lk I can't leave Antwerp like this," he said, 

and went down the steps slowly. 

- Good luck ! " 1 called ; ami 

kV Good-bye ! " he responded. 

Miles and miles of long roads, and hunted. 
Weary people staggering along ; bundles of 



ANTWERP— THE BOMBARDMENT. 53 

goods, carta with chairs and tables ! .ill their 

humble and valued possessions ; Hi tie ( hildren 
trying to keep up, their eyes big with Eear, 
their little legs weal with walking -how om 's 
li« ;ni ached for them! And suddenly behind 
us a greal sh< e1 of Same lii up 1 lie dusk the 
p< 1 vol tanks were ablaze. 

Gradually 1 lie nighl darkened and the cold 
became bitter i<> a degree. It: was early in 
October, and I bad hastened to Antwi i"|> from 
a hot. country with very little clothing. I 

ached with cold and will) sitting ( r< •< t on tli.it 

little narrow seat. A Scotch boy-dr< 
had taken Sir Bartle Frere's place; we had 
;i blankel apiei e, so we sal on one and held 1 he 

Other over U8 round our ne< ks ; I) nt 1 lie blankets 
were thin, and it gol (older and colder. 

()n<- nurse broke into helpless sobbing; she 

had gone down earlier to help the nurse inside 
with the wounded. She was a brave and 
splendid woman, and this was our B< < ond night 

without sleep >.and the days had been filled with 

hard work. Every now and then the 'bus 
would Stick in the mud ; often we had all to 
get down and shove to get it out of the ruts, 
and the jolting and jarring were terrible. 



54 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 

One patient in the 'bus in front, a young 
Flemish boy, screamed with agony, moaning 
and yelling ; that in itself was nerve-racking. 
A man was propped up against the windows 
of the 'bus, his head rolling from shoulder to 
shoulder with the rough motion ; he had been 
trepanned two days before. 

Once we stopped, and I helped an American 
nurse and two others to get hot water and make 
soup by throwing dozens of tabloids into 
huge cans of hot water ; and a Frenchwoman, 
whose husband was a Belgian, made tea. 
Every man had a drink. It was St. Nicholas. 
One man was dead, but for some reason the 
doctor in charge of that 'bus refused to let 
his body be handed over to the Belgian regi- 
ment in the town. The nurse refused to travel 
with a corpse, and so another nurse was put 
in beside the body, being left to discover the 
ghastly truth after the start. To me that 
always stands out as a needless piece of 
cruelty. 

So the long night went on, endless and ter- 
rible : the cold was bad enough, but the jolting 
and jarring seemed worse, and sleep was 
impossible. I turned to the boy beside me, 



ANTWERP— THE BOMBARDMENT. 55 

whom I scarcely knew, and said I must put 
my head on his shoulder. I was too tired to 
feel almost ; and I was strong, very strong. 
What that night of hell meant to some of the 
nurses and to the wounded God alone could 
witness. Better to let the veils of silence 
drop. . . . To me in the past War had meant 
romance and heroic deeds, not the awful hell 
of agony it is. 



CHAPTER IV 

GHENT — ARRIVAL : HOSPITALS AN'J HOSPI- 
TALITY : FLIGHT, RETURN, AND THE 
" BOCHES " 

The grey light of dawn had scarcely broken 
when the heavy 'buses rolled into Ghent, and 
so along endless streets of tall, narrow houses 
with shuttered windows to the Hotel Flandria, 
an auxiliary hospital opposite the big station 
of St. Pierre. Here the doctors arranged for 
twelve of the wounded to be taken out, the 
wounded officer particularly, as there were 
English doctors and nurses attached to this 
hospital with ambulance cars. Whilst they 
were unloading, a London hospital nurse and 
myself found the kitchen and a big pan of 
hot milk, and, securing a few cups, we made 
the round of the 'buses. In No. I 'bus was a 
terrible scene — every man was livid, with a 
drawn face, and lines of agony were stamped 



IN GHENT. 57 

on every mouth. Yet when we held out the 
first cup of hot milk and I offered it to a young 
English boy of eighteen, who had been one of 
the cheeriest and pluckiest in the whole hospital, 
he twisted his mouth into a smile and said : 
" Give it that chap up there, Sister, he needs 
it more." 

And each man passed it on to his neighbour 
in misery. That boy's smile broke through my 
calm, and I was crying bitterly whilst we 
finished our round. My companion was the 
same ; it was one of the saddest moments in 
life. 

Then the 'buses moved on to a big convent, 
and here 32 were unloaded ; six or eight of 
them were English, and the good nuns were 
at the door to welcome them, and us, with 
hot coffee and English tea ! 

It was indeed a comfort to be fed with hot, 
strong coffee by those gentle, kindly nuns, 
and when the mother superior asked for an 
English nurse to stay and help them, as they 
spoke no English and had no nurse amongst 
them, I held my breath in fear lest a trained 
nurse would offer to stay ; but none did, and 
I rushed to the reverend mother and begged 



58 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 

permission to remain. It was at once granted, 
and with a great joy in my heart I remounted 
the 'bus to go and find the doctor who had 
charge of my suit-case. 

The next halt was at the Hospital Civile, 
a big forbidding-looking place, and here the 
remainder of the loads were deposited. Then 
the 'buses went to a cafe — a rendezvous ; 
but here a sort of rush commenced, and at 
length, finding it hopeless to get any infor- 
mation, I took a cab and drove to the house 
of a Belgian doctor whose address had been 
given me. 

To my relief Dr. Hoyle was expected there 
for breakfast, and the doctor's wife, who spoke 
English well, made me come in and wash, and 
was very kind to me. Dr. Hoyle appeared later, 
but not my suit-case, which had been sent 
in error to Bruges and then to Ostend. How- 
ever, it was a pleasure to see the good doctor 
himself, and he tried hard to persuade me to 
go on with them. At last he left, and Madame 

and her daughter offered to take me back 

to the convent. They did so, calling at the 
English Consul's en route to tell him where I 
was and that there were English wounded 



IN GHENT. 59 

there. His daughter was much interested, 
and promised to come and see us. I was more 
than half asleep when I reached the convent 
door ; it had been a long walk, and after two 
days and two nights of excitement and no 
sleep I felt very near the end of my tether. 
Above all things I longed for a hot bath, 
but though that was impossible, it was a 
luxury to get off my clothes and tumble into 
bed. I slept at once, and an hour later a nun 
came hurrying to waken me. 

The motor 'buses were at the door taking 
away the English patients ! 

I dressed hurriedly, but I was too tired to 
be very quick, and stumbled downstairs to 
find the 'buses had gone, taking all the 
English but three I 

I was at once called upon by the doctor, 
who had just arrived, to get the dressing- 
wagon ready and go round with him. It took 
two hours to do the men. There were about 
50, and some of the wounds of the new 
arrivals were in an awful state. The men 
themselves were worn out with the suffering 
of their night in the 'bus and the sleepless 
night of the bombardment. The doctor was 



60 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 

very capable, and extremely clean in his 
methods. There was a bevy of fair lady 
helpers to accompany us, and they all had 
special duties allotted them. One very pretty 
girl had to hold the patients' hands and head 
and fondle them to take his mind off the 
pain of his dressings. One held the bowl of 
swabs, one the pail for dirty dressings, etc., 
etc., and not one of them was allowed to 
touch the dressings and bandages prepared for 
use. This was my work, and I had to undo 
all the dressings and syringe the wounds that 
required it, etc. 

I had lunch with a little Belgian girl, whose 
relatives were all killed at Louvain, and she 
had been in Antwerp some weeks at the 
hospital there. She was a good little worker, 
and was very helpful. After lunch I had to 
take temperatures, etc., at the doctors' special 
request, as he was returning at 3 o'clock. 
However, it was 5 when he came, and many of 
the dressings had to be done again. At 6.30 

I got permission to go to Madame to see 

if my bag had arrived. There were lots of 
English soldiers at the Gare St. Pierre, and in 
the streets people ran to offer them chocolates 



IN GHENT. 61 

and cigarettes and fruit. ... It was told me 
as a fact that when the English marched in to 
Ghent the poorer people gave the soldiers all 
they could to eat and drink, and spent all 
their ready money for the purpose. 

I had supper at 7.30, and fell into bed more 
dead than alive, but even then burnt my candle 
low jotting the events of the day in my diary 
in case of forgetting what occurred ; and so, 
very wearily, I went to sleep. The tiny 
cubicle amongst a dozen others was a haven of 
peace, and I had slept perhaps an hour and 
a half or two hours when cries awoke me. I 
leapt out of bed, slipped on my coat, and 
blindly groped my way to the place from 
whence the noise came. My head was con- 
fused — my brain a mass of chaotic thoughts ; 
in another cubicle I found a big figure in white 
groaning and stamping and yelling. To me 
came the thought it was strange to have a 
wounded soldier amongst the nun's cubicles, 
and then that this was a thief ... or a 
German. ... I seized the figure and pushed 
it on to the bed, and wondered vaguely if I 
could overcome it or if I would be killed ; 
and suddenly the mists of sleep cleared away 



62 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 

and I realised it was a woman and she had 
cramp ill her leg. I knelt beside her and 
rubbed, rubbed with a sort of hopeless energy, 
wondering a little bitterly if I would eve; 
a night's sleep again, for that night, an hour 
earlier, a messenger on horseback from the 
medical officer of the English division had 
brought a note for me, and heard with sur 
I was in bod ; but the nun brought up the 
note, and that was about 10, and I was 
awakened then to read it. The outcry had 
at length awakened the rest of the sleepers, 
and the good woman's maid appeared, and I 
left her to rub and slipped back to bed, falling 
asleep to the sound of voices crying : 

" Qu'eswe que e'est done ! " 

" Mon Dieu ! qui arrive . . . '' 

M >rnir e, and 1 was duly called at a 

quarter to 6 ! The morning was a busv one — 
the dressings took a long time. Every 
quarter of an hour one of the English sailors 

for me to ask " if his girl would lo, 
him now he'd lost an eye." Poor soul ! it 
was he who sat on the staircase at Antwerp 
all that night of bombardment, suffering from 
thirst as well as physical agonv. 



IN GHENT. 63 

That afternoon I had an hour off and went to 
the kk Government House," the headquarters of 
the English division. There I left a note and 
there I saw lots of our men — big and strong 
and confident ; it is wonderful the moral effect 
conveyed by a big Englishman in khaki. . . . 
1 returned to the convent feeling less lonely, 
and no longer a waif in a foreign town. 

When I returned I found that the erysipelas 
case was to be moved at 8 o'clock, and as no 
one but myself was allowed to touch him, I 
got him read}' and waited. . . . Nine o'clock 
came and 10 o'clock, and still he was not 
fetched. At 10.30 we got a man who knew 
something of first aid (or said he did) to go 
out and make inquiries. At 11 o'clock a van 
with one horse came. The driver refused to 
touch the stretcher or help in any way — he 
was afraid of infection ; and so, with the first- 
aid man to help me, I had to get the poor fellow 
on to the stretcher and carry one end myself 
and lift the stretcher into the van. The nun 
on night duty came to help, but her long 
sleeves and cloak made it difficult for her to 
come near. The poor fellow had 105 degrees 
of fever, and it was a very cold night, but 



64 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 

orders had to be obeyed I (He was returned 
a few hours later, as the fever hospital would 
not take him in ! ) Then I had to swab all 
the bed and the floor with disinfectant and 
put the sheets, etc., into solution. It was 
I o'clock when I got to bed. 

Next morning was Sunday, and I rose at 
5.30 to go to mass. It was a moving sight. 
I knelt in the background in my khaki with 
the nuns and the wounded who were able to 
get up. . . . 

Unfortunately for my chance of breakfast, 
the doctor had gone to mass also, and I was 
at once requisitioned to start work. He was 
quite annoyed because the temperatures were 
not taken ! And then we started at once 
on the dressings. Then one of my Englishmen 
had to be prepared for an operation, and was 
taken away in a horse van, and it was 1 1 o'clock 
before the doctor took his departure and I 
could go and get some breakfast. Later on 
in the afternoon the consul's daughter called, 
and when she heard how difficult it was to 
get anyone for night duty she offered to come 
on, if her people would consent, and let me go 
to bed. 



'%■■ 




fi£ 



^Rf 



K 

< 

O 

I ° 

I E 

I H 





IN GHENT 65 

So I got permission from the reverend 
mother to go out with her. She took me to 
the Flandria Hotel first to see the English 
wounded there, and she made inquiries for the 
officer we had brought from Antwerp. It 
was then a little lady with St. John's Associa- 
tion badges met us, and she told us gently 
she was then in charge for the afternoon of the 
officer in question, and he was far from well. 
We had an interesting chat ; she was a 
novelist whose name is well-known, and she 
made a note of my name and promised to 
come to the convent and see my wounded. 
(She came sooner than either of us dreamt !) 
Then when we reached the consulate, and Miss 
Lethbridge explained the situation and that 
she would gladly come for the night, their 
telephone bell rang. It was an order from 
Ostend that the consul was to leave at once. 

I returned to my convent and told the 
reverend mother what had happened, for 
many wild rumours had been abroad all day. 
Later on that evening the little lady from the 
Flandria appeared. ... It was late and very 
dark, and the streets were lonely, but she had 
come herself to tell me her party were leaving 



66 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 

before dawn and would take me and my 
English wounded at her request. It was very 
good of her to think of a stranger, and I 
explained to the reverend mother. Already 
we had had orders for all the Belgians to go at 
8 o'clock in the morning ! 

So then I helped one of the nuns to make 
little bundles of all the available clothes, and 
I warned the stronger of the two Englishmen 
to be ready ; the other man was bad and had 
to get medicine every hour, so the other 
Englishman lent me his watch to keep me 
right. I was sitting there in the dim light 
with all that ward of suffering men — some 
of them groaning, some snoring, some twist- 
ing and turning. Then of a sudden one poor 
fellow took a bad attack of pain, and I was 
attending to him when outside came the 
heavy tramp, tramp of hundreds of feet. . . . 
The man near me fell to the floor in a dead 
faint. I lifted him up and put him on his bed 
and hurried out to call the nun. We had 
rather a job getting him settled, and ever 
outside went that tramp, tramp, tramp. 

As soon as I could in decency I rushed to 
the next room (the surgery), threw open the 



IN GHENT 67 

window, and leant out into the night. Dimly 
could I discern the moving mass, the seemingly 
endless throng, and the heavy tramp, tramp, 
tramp drowned my cry of " Good luck, 
boys," for all my soul seemed drawn from 
me. So the English army marched from 
Ghent. . . . The tramp died away in the 
distance — I still stood there ; but of a sudden 
I felt desolate and very much alone, and 
because such thoughts are not good I shut 
the windows and returned to the ward. 

It was an hour or two later when Miss 
Sinclair came with her car. The nuns were 
very sad ; and I, too, felt my heart heavy, 
for they had been the kindest of friends, 
and I loved them. One of my men was dressed 
in white flannel trousers, a khaki tunic, and 
a khaki cap, and he moved us to laughter 
even then by his solemn anxiety. . . . 

" I came here a sailor and I'm going away 
a soldier," he remarked gruffly. " Funny, 
ain't it ? " 

Outside the Flandria other cars were loading, 
and at last we started. There were four or 
five other women in the car and two men, 
and I tried to keep awake, but to no purpose. 



68 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 

The narrow seat, the hard bar where I rested my 
head, the intense cold, were barriers to sleep, 
but Miss Sinclair put a blanket round me and 
drew my head to her shoulder, and then I knew 
no more. Discomfort and cold and fatigue 
vanished, for I had the gift of the gods — sleep. 
I was wakened to descend on a road white 
with frost, and everyone went up to a house 
where a big fire burned in a comfortable 
English-looking room. Beds were offered to 
the ladies ; but they were a democratic crowd, 
and chauffeurs, doctors, a parson, and the 
women all sat round together. Someone 
made room for me close to the fire ; I felt 
dazed with sleep and cold. Miss Sinclair 
seemed to be in great distress ; she was half- 
crying. A handsome woman was fiercely 
arguing some point with her. It appeared 
that they had left an English officer in Ghent, 
at the Flandria, as he was too ill to move. 
I went outside and was joined by Miss Sinclair 
and the parson, and to them I explained I was 
going back to Ghent to try and find the officer, 
who was dying, and to stay with him till the 
end. They tried to dissuade me, as I would 
have to go alone. 



IN GHENT 69 

Miss Sinclair and- the young clergyman 
walked beside me until we came to a station, 
and there I learnt a train for Ghent was due. 
The two of them saw me off. Poor Miss 
Sinclair was terribly upset, and was very 
sorry she was not a trained nurse, as if that 
had been the case she would have returned 
also. The frost was intense and the country 
white. I walked up and down the dirty 
match-strewn compartment to keep my tem- 
perature and courage up. The guard came, 
and laughed when I owned I had no ticket ; 
he wanted to warn me Ghent was already full 
of Germans. 

" Go back, mademoiselle," he said. " The 
6 Boches ' are brutes ; it is not for an English 
lady to go there now." 

But when I told him there was an English- 
man there badly wounded, tears came to his 
eyes, and he pressed my hand. Two old 
Flemish men came to offer me a big pear for 
" the devotion of the Red Cross." 

At the station people were dashing about in 
wild confusion : many rushed up to me to 
ask if the English were coming back ! Men 
and women and children were staggering 



7 o A F.A.N.Y. IX FRANCE 

about carrying and dragging heavy trunk? — 
the hated M Boches " were coming. 

At the Flandria was wild i ople 

packing rapidly. 1 g ctor to take 

lish lad. He looked very 
white and tired, and < to know wl 

y " had all gone. He could not under- 
stand why nobody had washed him, nor why 
he was alone. It was hard work finding 
. and og to boil it on, and 

-. The other bed in the r 
had to be made : all th< 
in di : . dirty. Once a Belg 

looked in. 
" Oh," she said, " you v. with him ! 

: ray :' 
\." She tore of? eap and overall and gave 
me them. 

A kinder-hearted, m 
I have never eome across : lie was a hero, this 
slip of a boy, wasted with SU 

.vent 
to tell the nuns 1 was there. I 

iked him h m 1 could send a 
messe.^e. 
" I am not the porter." h. gruffly. 



TN GHENT 71 

Shortly afterwards the same man entered 
the room. 

" Oh." I said, kk are you the doctor ? I can 
find no charts nor treatment book. What 
■ he get ? " 

" I am not the doctor," he replied shortly, 
and went away. 

Then a Belgian lady came, and after asking 
her a question five times, I found she was 
deaf. She was very kind. As soon as I spoke 
through her trumpet she went to make 
arrangements. Then we carried the poor 
boy to a Belgian nursing home on a stretcher. 
It was a weary task, for the stretcher-bearers 
were not trained and wanted many rests. 
At last I took the front handles myself. 

We went to the operating-room, and by 
this time I had broken down hopelessly, 
and when I found myself at a table with a cup 
of hot coffee I sobbed for sheer relief ; and 
to crown all the wonderful comfort came 
another Scotch girl, a nurse in the home ! In 
a haze of warm gratitude I saw a clean room, 
tnfortable bed ; and I slept for four hours 
just as I was — tunic and belt and b 
I was wakened by a loud explosion, v 



72 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 

was said to be the Belgians blowing up a 
bridge. 

Then a German regiment marched past — 
little men, all of them ; and I watched them 
in a fury of despair from the window. That 
night Germans were quartered on the home : 
they were quite civil, indeed two of them, 
common soldiers, went about on tip toe in 
the corridors when they heard there were 
" malades " there (they were not told there 
were wounded). The first two nights were 
rather nerve-racking, as I sat by my patient 
wondering if the Germans would come in 
and kill him. However, morning came and 
the next night passed. Then Death came 
bringing freedom in her hands, and after that 
a sad little ceremony on a wet, dismal day, and 
a gallant British officer was laid to rest 
unmolested by the enemy to the end. There 
was no Union Jack and no " Last Post," and 
only three nurses to lay him to rest and I 
to read the Burial Service, but his was a hero's 
death — gallant and patient to the end. 

The Germans were rather astonished at my 
khaki uniform ; indeed, as I followed the 
coffin out we met a party of 18 Germans 



IN GHENT 73 

coming in who were newly billeted on the 
home. One of them ran to inform his officer 
of my coming, and for a moment I feared a 
scene ; but the officer saluted gravely, and 
I got into the carriage with the two nurses. 
We drove through lines of soldiers, and passed 
many regiments — well-fed, sturdy men, with 
brown stubby beards and little eyes. 

Later that afternoon I drove to the German 
headquarters, having vainly appealed to the 
American consul and to the Spanish consul 
for assistance. The sentries at the gates eyed 
me with amazement, and the corporal of the 
guard came to ask my business and conducted 
me to the general. As he threw open the big 
glass doors into a sort of anteroom filled 
with officers, there was a dead silence for a 
moment. Every head turned towards me ; 
for a moment I think they took me for a man. 
One or two saluted, and I saluted gravely and 
looked round for a likely interpreter. I had just 
caught the eye of a jolly-faced old general or 
colonel, with twinkly eyes, when a very dapper 
A.D.C. asked my business. I stated it quietly : 
" I am English. The officer I have been 
nursing is dead ; I want to return to England.'' 



74 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 

A little crowd gathered round me ; they 
all spoke perfect English. They would not 
permit me to go, I must indeed go to 
Brussels, and from thence I would be sent to 
Germany, and perhaps from there to England ! 

I pressed the point : I was a nurse. I would 
not nurse Germans : I must go to Eng] 
They were polite and very sorry, but inflexible. 
I was ordered to present myself at q o'clock 
the following morning, and my papers for 
Brussels would be ready. One young puppy 
even warned me it would be a long walk to 
Brussels. I told them if they wished me to go 
to Brussels they would have to send me ; 
for myself, I was going to England. So with 
many salutes we parted, and I swanked out 
through that courtyard rilled with Germans 
as if khaki had never before been rlttinglv 
worn ! 

At 9 o'clock next day I breakfasted in b 
and at the same hour the day after I started 
for Holland, and England. 

The Germans were friendly on the whole. 

A picket was drawn up by int to salute 

me. Sometimes the men made friendly 

irks about the " worthy English Frail- 



IN GHENT 75 

lieutenant." Once a man made rude remarks 
about the " English swine," and I told him 
off sharply and in execrable German threatened 
to report him ! He took it meekly, and the 
Belgians round nearly embraced me. Once 
in a shop a German officer was buying a 
pencil and I a writing-block. The woman 
brought me one " made in Germany." I told 
her to take it away and see if she had English 
or Belgian paper, and then, as if by accident, 
knocked the offensive article on the floor. 
The officer went away without buying his 
pencil, and the good woman in the shop 
beamed with delight ! 

In other shops they would bring out their 
best for me, and ask if I were not afraid. 
Once I ran down the stairs of the home and 
came suddenly on a German sentry : his 
eyes bulged ; he jumped violently and grabbed 
his rifle. I laughed aloud with great delight, 
and he got very red. He thought I was a 
man at first. 

One night a big banquet was arranged for 
150 German officers, but was cancelled owing 
to the death of General von Besslaer, who was 
shot through the right lung on the road to 



76 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 

Bruges when some of our infantry were hidden 
in a wood to stop the German advance. 

What a blessed relief it was to leave the last 
German sentry behind and be greeted by the 
friendly Dutch sentries with smiles of welcome, 
and to unfurl the Belgian flag on our car ! 
Ternhuisen was full of refugees from all parts, 
and many an interesting yarn went round the 
big table where everybody dined en famille. 
The little boat was well loaded, and there were 
two Englishwomen on board who were work- 
ing amongst refugees in Holland. A Dutch 
officer asked permission to take my photo- 
graph, and he, too, had strange tales to tell. 
Since the war began the strangeness of truth 
over fiction has been demonstrated over and 
over again. 

The crowds outside the steamer offices 
at Flushing were enormous. I managed to 
get there amongst the first six, and was given 
a ticket for England for next day's boat and 
a chit for a berth on board a refuge boat ! 
I found I was expected to share a cabin with 
a fairly big boy and his mother ; so I explored 
the boat, noted the number of a tiny cabin 
with one bunk in it, and went back to the 



IN GHENT 77 

office, where they at once made the exchange 
for me. When the steward came on in the 
evening I got clean sheets from him — for, 
indeed, the sheets in use looked as if many 
a strange being had inhabited them ! 

I had supper at the only hotel — a poor 
meal for an exorbitant charge ; and there 
again were crowds of homeless wanderers. 
One poor woman with a baby in arms had 
come from Hamburg. Her husband, a sea 
captain, was a prisoner, and she and her babe 
had been ordered on to the prison boat, 
where 70 men and 20 women were imprisoned. 
However, the American consul intervened on 
account of the child and got her away. 

A St. John's nurse came to ask me some- 
thing : she was there with wounded, and they 
had all slept in a hayloft for a week. 

The morning came at last and the boat 
started ; but never shall I forget the inter- 
minable weariness of that crossing. I suppose 
it was the reaction after the constant work, 
but as the hours went by I felt almost sick with 
the endless monotony of it all. People all 
talked to each other : many thought I was 
there, in case the boat might be submarined, to 



78 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 

render aid to the passengers. We caught sight 
of a torpedo and other boats, and once we 
had to stand-to whilst someone on a little 
minesweeper harangued the bridge through a 
megaphone. Then came Folkestone, and the 
dragging past of the hours until we got to 
Victoria. By this time I was in a fever of 
impatience, although none of my people were 
in England, only friends, to whose flat I 
hastened, and as I ran out of Earl's Court 
Station I wondered wildly if I would find 
them out ; but that blow was spared me. 
As for them, they greeted me almost as 
one returned from the dead . . . and very 
pleasant it was ! 

And that was the first chapter of the war 
for me ; and the second is, perhaps, stranger 
still, for Providence led my comrades and 
myself into as strange places as ever women 
went before. This at least the Great War has 
done — it has proved to men that women can 
share men's dangers and privations and 
hardships and yet remain women. 



PART II 
FRANCE 



CHAPTER I 

HOW THE CORPS CAME TO CALAIS 

Out of the grey mists of the past rise 
shadowy forms that come and go — some have 
deeper tints and stronger outlines than others ; 
all are shrouded in silence. These are the 
women who formed what we called in jest 
" The Band of Hope." For it was no light 
task to take from safety to a troubled land 
those who had not already been there. I 
myself came back purged temporarily by the 
pain I had witnessed — all selfish considerations 
swept away for the time by the sight of suffer- 
ing; and I had a brief glimpse into the real glory 
of life — a life where money was not thought 
of, where the future lay in stronger Hands, 
and only the need of the moment could be 
considered. So it was that money and 
friends and love itself proved no bar, and 
away I went light-hearted, taking on me will- 
ingly the responsibility of eleven other beings, 



82 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 

mostly older, some younger, than I. Wise 
counsels of parents, the cautious teachings 
of friends, were listened to and lightly dis- 
regarded. 

" Came the whisper, came the vision, came the power 
with the need, 
And the soul that is not man's soul was sent us to 
lead." 

Exactly seven days sufficed to order a 
Unic motor ambulance, watch it building, 
sell stock to pay for it, get the necessary 
permits, and leave England. With twelve 
pounds in the bank then, and no promises 
of work, no definite destination, we sailed 
from England merrily. It was even difficult 
to depart ; obstacles blocked every step of the 
wav — officialism, red tape, active enmity, all 
these had to be pushed aside ; and infinite 
patience, much bluff and more blarney had 
to back up the steadfast purpose of our 
going. 

What was the next scene ! Calais the 
cruel, the pitiless ; Calais swept by storms 
of rain and wind, cold and wet, and cheerless ; 
the Calais along whose quais one never-to-be- 
forgotten night rows of wounded lay — in the 



HOW THE CORPS CAME TO CALAIS 83 

darkness, and the cold, and the rain. The 
wind was shrill and the heavens screamed 
their protest, but the great hotels remained 
closed ; hospitals, with rows of beds and 
hot-water bottles, stood empty, the people 
slept in their warm beds and digested their 
heavy meals. 

Yes, fathers of sons who were fighting, 
mothers of men who were wounded ! they 
listened from their warm houses, and, perhaps, 
shivered at the howling of the wind ; and 
along the quat, with sometimes a blanket to 
cover them, lay the heroes who had saved 
France. Hundreds of them came to Calais the 
cruel — men whose own country was lost to 
them ; men whose mothers' and wives and 
children had been murdered and outraged ; 
Belgians who had been taken by surprise by a 
well-prepared foe and given their life and 
strength to keep that foe from seizing France. 
So the wind and the rain mourned over them, 
and with the dawn came English ships and 
doctors, and the 40 who had not the courage 
to deny to the wind and the rain the lives 
they had refused to the Germans were borne 
aside. As for the others — well, a few got 



84 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 

better. After all, this is only a little part of 
what war means. 

There was a side-light on war, too. Shall 
I raise that veil also ? I remember two French 
piou-pious coming to tell me there were sick 
children down by the docks. I remember a 
little hut — a species of rough tram-shelter — 
where 30 women and children were striving 
to keep warm and dry round a little stove, 
and on the bare boards three tiny children 
lay flushed and fever-stricken. The eldest 
was possibly six : Belgian children are small 
for their age by English children. Her little 
eyes were very brilliant ; her cheeks burnt 
my hand ; her throat was horrible to examine. 
Her temperature was 104. The other two were 
not quite so bad — their temperatures were 
102 and 102*2 ; and in a broken perambulator 
in the corner a babe of sixteen months had the 
same symptoms. It took us five minutes to 
clear that hut, open the windows, and get some 
air in to purify the place; and then Nurse 
Jordan absolutely devoted herself to the chil- 
dren. Till 10 o'clock that night she swabbed 
their throats and tended them. My task was 
to get them taken to a hospital ; and I failed. 



HOW THE CORPS CAME TO CALAIS 85 

It is a memory that will never cease to 
rankle — it is a regret, a remorse, that will 
never cease to trouble my heart. It is true 
there were difficulties — would you believe 
them, I wonder ? Listen 

The people at the nearest hotel could not 
give any help : they knew of no civil doctors 
no fever hospital, no institution to help. . . . 
There was an English nurse passed across 
the quai, a woman with ambulance cars and 
orderlies to meet her. I told her of the 
children — the little children. She said she 
was here for wounded, and she passed by. . . . 
There were English officers — medical officers. 
I told them of the children — the little children. 
They asked with great superiority if I were 
there for the refugees. . . . My reply made them 
say they would see to it. Yes, they would see 
to it ; and little children were lying on hard 
boards, with no milk and no pillows. We could 
only get so little milk. . . . There were others 
who sent me a message " to leave the children 
alone or I would get quarantined " ; and we 
were there for the wounded. . . . Then came 
a Belgian general and a French officer, and to 
them at first the matter seemed of no import- 



86 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 

ance ; but by this time I was desperate, 
and they came to see for themselves. By this 
time also two of the others of our little band 
had spent two hours trudging through the 
streets and found a doctor. And all these 
good men promised to see what they could 
do ! Then came two other men— one a reporter 
to an English paper ; and they, too, undertook 
to kk do something " to help. And meantime 
there were orders to go and transport wounded, 
and this we did, and after many journeys 
in the darkness and rain, our motor ambulance 
barged into a man with a hand cart, and 
broke our radiator and his cart. He himself 
escaped with a cut, and so it was very late 
re we had found a garage, — and returned 
on foot to the quai. It was 10 o'clock when we 
collected a cab and all our hand luggage, 
and Nurse Jordan and Nurse Dunn, both 
worn out by the long day and their efforts 
to help the children with scarlet fever. It 
was a struggle to go and leave these children 
alone with their mothers ; but we were very 
tired, and none of us had eaten since 12 o'clock 
midday, and so we went, the two nurses in 
the cab and the rest of us on foot tramping 



HOW THE CORPS CAME TO CALAIS 87 

through the wet endless streets to find our 
different billets. It was like a funeral. . . . 
The first billet was filled, but a kindly old man 
offered to put up one of us ; my brother was 
decided on. The next billet took two, the 
third took three, and the fourth drew blank, 
which left two out of a shelter — it was an 
empty house ! Then we got four into a billet 
for two, and three into another billet, and 
there still remained the three men of our party 
and myself. My billet was a single one, and I 
had left it to the end purposely, and arrived 
to find it filled by two men refugees. The old 
woman put her head out of the window and 
volubly explained the position, and in the end, 
relenting, offered to let me share her bed, 
which was a converted sofa in the back parlour 
of a tiny tobacco shop. 

Weary as we were, we could still enjoy the 
situation, although it was now 11 o'clock. 
Then the old gentleman who had come to my 
brother's rescue said he would also find room 
for me. He was indeed a good Samaritan, for he 
piloted us all that evening. So we bade farewell 
to Elizabeth Smith (for such was the homely 
name of the French tobacconist) and trudged 



88 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 

along to deposit the two medical dressers. 
We rang the bell of their billet — no response ; 
we rang, and rang ; and gradually the truth 
came to us — it was another empty house I 
And again our good Samaritan rose to the 
heights and said he would somehow manage to 
put us all up. 

So behold us arriving at his dear little home, 
with an anxious housekeeper suddenly con- 
fronted with four English strangers who were 
homeless. She too behaved kk like a Briton," 
and 1 helped her to cut bread and butter and 
make coffee, and on that, and an apple each, we 
feasted royally. Bed was very welcome that 
night, and my passing regret for turning the 
good Samaritan out of his room was soon lost 
in the thoughts — tearful thoughts, I admit — 
of the little children who lay on bare boards, 
and even that passed swiftly into sleep. 

We were early afoot next day, and early 
at the docks, but the hut was empty. The 
fever-stricken children had gone, with Ooo 
fellow-creatures, aboard the refugee ship that 
had sailed for England. 

Calais recalls another memory — another 
glimpse of the way we treat each other in 



HOW THE CORPS CAME TO CALAIS 89 

war time. We were still in our shelter of a 
glass roof and stone floor — the part of a 
disused corridor in the station waiting-rooms. 
We were making tea with a little spirit lamp, 
and in walked two men carrying a stretcher 
with a boy scout on it, and a woman walking 
with them who wore a Red Cross armlet and 
a white cap with a red cross on it. They laid 
the lad down and departed, merely stating 
he was ill and needed rest, that he had come 
on a boat from England. The boy seemed to 
be in a stupor — we could not diagnose it ; and 
there was no doctor to be got. We finished 
our tea (which was also supper) and asked the 
hotel people to take the boy in. Impossible I 
— there was no place, but he must be moved. 
I examined his papers. He was a Belgian 
hero, decorated for taking prisoners, single- 
handed, three Uhlans. He was sixteen. His 
photograph adorned the front cover of the 
Daily Mirror. Two of us went to a Belgian 
boat, and there found the Red Cross armlet 
lady having a meal with the skipper. I told 
them we were bringing the boy on board for 
the night. Impossible ! Why ? There was no 
room. I looked round the empty boat. There 



90 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 

was no room for sick people. Not even tor 
their own countryman — a boy, alone in a 
foreign country ? No, not even for him. 
Then I do not know if my temper or my French 
was worse. Anyway, there could be no doubt 
left in either of their minds as to my opinion, 
and I asked that woman how she dared wear 
a red cross, and I ended by telling them they 
had refused shelter to a hero, honoured by 
their King for his bravery ; and so I swung 
down their gangway mad with rage. 

A Belgian officer had joined the group as I 
left. Then we went to the English ship and 
explained to the doctor, and he at once told 
us to bring him, and we carried him on board 
and left him ; and as we passed the Belgian 
boat with the empty stretcher the officer and 
the woman called out : " We will take him ; 
you can bring him now ; M and with huge 
pleasure I hurled back at them : k% Yon 
won't get him ; the English will take care of 
him." 

Then came our hospital of ioo beds, and the 
cleaning and the scrubbing, and the dying ; 
and hardly were things in order w'.ien the 
typhoid scourge developed. From the first 



HOW THE CORPS CAME TO CALAIS 91 

we had two patients, and they grew to eight 
and to 20 and to 50, and Sister Wicks and her 
little staff were busy day and night fighting 
the worst fight of all — grappling with death 
at very close quarters, fighting against heavy 
odds ; for milk and eggs were hard to get, 
and our Belgian adjutant had his work cut 
out to get supplies, and some days these 
supplies gave out. And there were other 
things to overcome — insanitary conditions and 
foreign prejudices. And in the other building 
a steady tight went on with wounds — ghastly 
injuries ; and shortage of dressings and lack 
of instruments and a hundred and one odd 
things had to be thought of and appealed for 
and found. For ten days we had to cut 
sheets in half to have sheets for each bed ; 
we had to wash shirts and socks and use them 
next day ; we had to go on with the work 
when some were ill and the staff at a minimum, 
and all these first months we kept a dressing 
station going at Oostkirke, a mile behind the 
trenches. 

Up there, little Walton, with her constant 
smile and little fragile face, stayed with 
another girl for a fortnight — sleeping on straw 



92 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 

by night, shelled out of the " Poste de Secours " 
by day, up to the knees in mud, going to and 
from the trenches, shrapnel bursting every- 
where. Walton, Sayer, and Bond, they 
all went through it, and a Belgian girl was with 
us for a time. Some days we had no butter 
and plenty of bread ; and we sent to Calais 
for butter : it came, tins of it, and we had 
no bread ! Potatoes and black coffee were the 
staple items of diet, and " pldtre" a sort of 
bully beef in tins that we stewed and fried and 
boiled and made into potato mash. And once 
from the troop kitchen we got five packets of 
" Little Mary Custard Powder," and as milk 
was an unheard-of luxury, we made custard 
with water, and it tasted better than the best 
custard ever made at home ! 

It was a strange world — the world of men, 
where no women ever crossed our path, and 
where conventions had ceased to exist. Con- 
ventions indeed were unnecessary. Chivalry 
was the outstanding characteristic of the men, 
and up there alone in the midst of the Belgian 
army we were as safe as in a London drawing- 
room. One night there were only two " rooms " 
available, so on one side on straw we slept, and 



HOW THE CORPS CAME TO CALAIS 93 

on the other the doctors and their orderlies, 
and in the other room 40 soldiers spent the 
night. Up in the trenches it was amusing 
to see the utter unconcern of the men — their 
quiet drollery, their games of cards, their 
delight at getting newspapers, and there were 
several who used to fry potatoes in little 
pots. 

Once it was most thrilling. Commandant 

T , an officer who was promoted and got 

the Legion of Honour for an exceptionally 
brave deed, took us along his trenches. It 
was a lovely November morning, bright and 
clear, and more like a picnic than anything, 
and suddenly a hare crossed the ploughed 
field behind, and two soldiers jumped out and 
chased it with sticks and others threw stones, 
and everyone watched with laughter, and 
then the Germans recalled us to reality. 
Whizz-z-z . . . boom came the cloudballs of 
shrapnel, and the men were chased back to 
the trenches by the officers. 

How well I remember it all, even now : the 
fields with the trenches thrown up, and the 
happy faces looking over — for the Belgian 
soldier is as gay as he is brave ; and here and 



A F ANY. IN FRANCE 

there- 

- 

s 

- that 
e all pi i to 



HOW THE CORPS CAME TO CALAIS 95 

of Allies and enemies, and ordered all things 
as it thought best. 

There is another picture of the trenches a 

Week later. It was raining- hard, steady 
rain and we had a long tramp ; the railway 

line was broken Up with shell-holes and the 
fields were swampy. We serambled along 

communication trenches and zigzag trenches. 

Mv field boots Were lest in the mud, my 

skirt tucked up to my knees, and mv bnekskin 
breeches Were soaked through at the knees 
with slimy, grease mnd. The trenches were 
elosed up with straw and grass-sod roots, 

and a wet and dreary officer welcomed us. 

He clapped his hands, and the grass-sod 
roots were eantionsly shitted a few inches, 
and out popped dozens of heads like rats in 
a hole. The cigarettes and shirts and seeks 
brought shouts of delight, and grimy, happy 
faces peered at us curiously from the earthen 
burrows. From there we trudged along to a 
battery of artillery. They were so cold, poor 
fellows! standing about, soaked; to the S 
with only mud to sit down on ; they had 
branches and bushes stuek on their guns to 
look like a line of trees from afar. 



96 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 

The day before a passing observation car 
had halted by our poste, and a red-headed 
kindly sailorman (with an Aberdeen accent 
that rivalled my own) had shared our simple 
meal of soup and potatoes. He had been so 
touched by hearing of our little bundles of 
comforts for the men he had torn off his 
own mittens and thrust them into my hands, 
saying : " They may keep some poor devil 
warm ; I can get others." The point of this 
digression is that one gunner had hands 
purple with cold, and to him I gave the warm- 
hearted sailor's mittens. Tears came to his 
eyes ; the brave fellow looked at the mittens, 
then at me, then at his gun. 

" The English are always good," he said 
simply ; " I shall fire my gun better now." 

On our way back with empty pockets we 
found some French soldiers in stables and a 
Senegale acting as cook, so we hunted in 
our coats for one or two odd cigarettes. The 
Senegale was so touched that he fumbled 
round his neck, beneath his tunic, and offered 
me, as a little souvenir — a German ear ! It 
was said that the Senegales cut off the ears of 
dead Germans and made necklaces of them. 




A TRENCH IN THE SAND. 




.* 



GUNS HIDDEN IN BRANCHES. 



HOW THE CORPS CAME TO CALAIS 97 

The French soldiers seemed to relish that tale 
— so did my companions ! 

One day we wandered into a lonely Flemish 
farmyard. Dead cows with their legs in the 
air made one long for eau de cologne ; beside 
one ungainly corpse a little party of soldiers 
were cheerily cooking their midday meal. . . . 
Inside the farmhouse an old bent man was 
crouching over the stove ; opposite him sat 
an aged woman ; and three soldiers and a 
wounded officer on a mattress completed the 
party. The window had never been open all 
the years the farm had been built. Over the 
stove, on a narrow shelf, were ten priceless 
willow-pattern plates in excellent condition. 
From the window we could see the little garden 
enclosed in a field, and then a plank, and beyond 
that the trenches and the blue line of the Yser. 
In the field we had crossed to reach that farm- 
house were 300 shell-holes. . . . All through 
the preceding week the battle of Dixmude 
had raged round this humblehome. Thousands 
of killed and wounded had covered the ground 
with their blood and agony, and all through 
that scene of slaughter and horror the old 
bent man had sat by his fireside, and the aged 



98 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 

woman had walked to Fumes, about 16 miles 
away, and on this very morning she had 
returned. Poor old Darby and Joan ! — the 
war had burst in fury round them, but they 
only looked on with a sort of childish wonder. 
I longed to get one of these plates, but I 
could not bear to ask for it ; I knew that at 
any moment one of the shells splitting the 
air outside might for ever end the plates, 
but to ask seemed sacrilege. So we shifted 
the wounded down to the roadway, and at 
length to the poste and into the ambulance. 
It was dark by the time the car started — it was 
safer to work in darkness — and so, piloted 
by a French officer in his car, we ran back to 
Furnes without lights. Furnes itself was in 
darkness, and it was hard to drive and find 
the hospital in streets where never a lamp 
was lit, because it was within reach of those 
dreaded German guns. 

Next day we were shelled out of our poste. 
Walton was cooking the breakfast, when a 
shell burst outside and smashed all our win- 
dows. We went out to examine the hole it 
made, when another came. They were shell- 
ing the road and the railway near. In a big 



HOW THE CORPS CAME TO CALAIS 99 

field hundreds of men were drawn up for roll- 
call, and each shriek made us close our eyes, 
expecting to see a great gap in their midst. 
But the officers proceeded calmly, and then 
the men fell in, company after company, 
and marched away, falling into single file as 
they went. The " system " of shelling was 
explained to us. The enemy always shelled 
first one spot, then farther on, and farther 
on again ; so it is really safer to stay where 
the first shells come than to run backwards. 

All this time — which was not long as days 
count — the car kept in constant touch with 
Calais. Some days I went back there to see that 
all was well ; some days I stayed where I was. 
At Calais the work went on quietly, steadily 
— day after day of steady rain and raw cold 
and bad smells. We were all ill in turn. The 
water was bad, the work was hard ; our food 
was at first rather a makeshift. One after 
another suffered from severe dysentery, and 
there was little comfort for the sick. The 
hospital, our base, was little more luxurious 
than the trenches. But now I will try and 
describe it more fully. Comfort was a mere 
detail, — a forgotten trifle belonging to a 



ioo A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 

previous existence ; and never a grumble 
betrayed that any of us noticed its absence. 
War was work, and we looked for nothing 
better. We still lived on the few pounds I had 
brought for emergency, and we had not time 
to write and tell those at home of our needs. 
All we could spare went to our blesses, and 
overtime was never thought of. Someone 
was ill — that meant a night on duty to follow 
a day's hard work, but that was nothing. 
To us all war spelled work, and work spelled 
war ; and we never looked beyond. 



CHAPTER II 

THE HOSPITAL IN EARLY DAYS 

What was our hospital to look at ? Well, 
it had not an impressive appearance. That 
never-to-be-forgotten day when I marched 
a squad up the yard to " take over " we all 
noted with interest the air of the place. 

A large gateway led into a dirty courtyard 
where two long ungainly buildings lay parallel 
with each other. Opposite the doorways 
were rows of latrines, and the odour from these 
made one shrink back in disgust. Inside the 
old schoolrooms looked dirty and untidy, and 
men lay on straw palliasses ; one or two had 
beds — three wooden planks supported on iron 
legs : these were chalets. In one room next the 
door two doctors and six nurses were cooking 
or boiling water on a little stove — an old- 
fashioned iron thing like a drain pipe. There 
was one table and a wooden bench in the 



102 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 

room. Opposite this was a ward. An ugly 
wooden staircase with a sharp narrow turn 
led to another ward w T here were 16 men, some 
of whom seemed very bad ; then there was a 
dirty room, with one or two wooden benches in 
it, and that led into a third ward. Above 
that we were told not to go. 

A second staircase led downstairs into the 
private rooms of the headmistress, who also 
owned rooms above. 

Outside one had to go round the courtyard 
to get to the second building, but it, we were 
told, was empty. It took very little time 
to give everyone a job. Our packing-cases 
arrived ; the three men carried them in, and 
emptied four and made a cupboard. The 
nurses attended at once to the patients, many 
of whom had very bad wounds ; two were very 
ill with septic pneumonia, and their wounds 
had been left without fresh dressings for two 
days because there was not much hope for 
them ! Three of us scrubbed the upstairs 
room and two the kitchen, and the Belgian 
orderlies watched us, at first resentfully, 
then curiously, and at length one of them 
came and took my bucket and scrubbing 



THE HOSPITAL IN EARLY DAYS 103 

cloth from me and himself washed the floor 
and stairs. 

The others followed suit ; they were con- 
vinced the " English mees " could work, so 
they worked too. 

We scrubbed desks out, to have places at 
once for bandages and dressings ; we invented 
all sorts of shelves ; and that evening at 
6 o'clock, when the two former doctors called 
to offer their help, they exclaimed with sur- 
prise at the changes wrought. 

We were exceedingly fortunate, too, in our 
Belgian quartermaster : he was a kindly, 
simple soul who made his staff work. All that 
afternoon he kept them busy filling mattresses 
with straw — arranging dozens of chalets he 
had managed to secure. To him I went in 
despair over the question of cooking. " Made- 
moiselle," he said, " tout est possible." 

Two days later the kitchen had a good 
range, a cauldron for hot water, tables, chairs, 
cups, and plates. This first day he watched 
us, and we, when we had time, watched him. 
But by night everything was clean. The 
" theatre," as we dubbed the empty upstairs 
room, was stocked with desks ; each desk 



io + A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 

labelled, and containing bandages, dressings, 
bottles of iodine, chloroform, peroxide, etc. 
Walton got us a nice little supper from our 
stock of tinned meats, etc., which was now 
carefully arranged in a cupboard made from 
empty packing-cases. Linen and shirts and 
socks were also packed neatly in the shelves, 
and when Sister Wicks appeared, having gone 
to rest at once like a good nurse, she was 
immensely surprised. It was 9 o'clock when 
they left to walk to their billets. I stayed to 
help Wicks, as there were a lot of bad eases. 
We had a busy night : a little lay brother was 
aownstairs in the kitchen, and one of the 
men dressers slept on a stretcher in the 
theatre. 

There was lots of work. We had to boil all 
our water on a little stove with a small kettle. 
The night wore slowly on, and I was sitting 
in the upstairs ward when the lay brother 
came to beg us to do something for the 
" infecter The who ? The kk suspecti? who 
was alone. He had been alone all day. . . . 
Could nothing be done for him ? . . . By 
degrees we learnt that a typhoid case had 
been left by the out-going doctors in the 



THE HOSPITAL IN EARLY DAYS 105 

opposite building — alone. They had told me 
they had had a typhoid case, but had moved 
him. Perhaps they had meant to, and for- 
gotten. Let us hope so ! 

Wicks went over to him at once, and I 
remained in the upstairs ward, where six 
men had pneumonia, two septic . . . Twice I 
had to force the clothes off a man who was 
delirious and kept dressing himself when I 
was busy elsewhere ; and then one big man 
suddenly got out of bed and stood shouting, 

" Let me go ; open that door ! " 

I went to him to put him back to bed, 
and he raised his great fist and threatened 
me. I tried to coax him, but he glared at 
me furiously. I tried to order him like a 
soldier, but I did not know the words of com- 
mand. Still he wavered, and then, again 
rearing himself up, hit out at me. 

" Open the door. Why is the door shut ? " 
And I backed to the door, watching him, 
opened it, and darted through to the theatre. 

" Wake up — quick, there's a man raving," 
I said to the dresser, who was very sound 
asleep, and rushed back to the ward and 
again tried to put the man back to bed. 



io6 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 

The dresser came, and, telling him to be 
ready, I darted downstairs, called to the frere, 
and he came up too. But the man's violence 
increased. He wanted to hit us ; he was mad, 
and wc were all a little nervous, I think. 
Then Wicks came back, and she marched 
boldly up to him to take his arm, but he 
struck out wildly and held us at bay. Then 
I slipped away, wakened a sergeant down- 
stairs with a hand-wound, and asked him to 
come up and give the man sharp orders. He 
did, and the soldier instinct won ; the madman 
obeyed the sharp voice of authority, and sat 
down on the bed. Next moment he was under 
the blankets and the dresser was sitting on 
the bed ready to hold him down. 

One of the men with septic pneumonia was 
very bad — so bad I sent for a priest and a 
doctor. The priest came first, hurrying up the 
stairs, serious and quiet. He bent over the 
poor fellow, whispering in his ear, and even as 
I turned back the blankets for the priest to 
make the sign of the cross on his feet his spirit 
went. The doctor came next, but merely 
agreed that the man was dead and departed. 

It was all Wicks and I could do to carry 



THE HOSPITAL IN EARLY DAYS 107 

the body to an empty landing where we could 
lay him out. Then I went down and made 
cocoa, and we had bread and jam, and up again 
to the ward ; this time to the other septic 
pneumonia, a fine boy, who said to me gently : 
" I am going to die, mademoiselle, and I feel 
a little frightened ; do not leave me." 

So I stayed by him as much as possible, 
and told him he must get well, and bathed his 
head with cold water ; but he smiled and 
repeated always : " Thank you, mademoiselle, 
but I am going to die." Then he would lie 
quiet, smiling, and once he said : " I cannot 
sleep, but I shall soon never waken." 

Then dawn came, and washings and dress- 
ings and breakfast, and after breakfast I 
went back to Antoine. Of course it was 
absurd and sentimental, and I ought to have 
gone quickly back to a billet and slept, but 
Antoine was lonely and begged me to stay. 
" Do not leave me, mademoiselle ; I am a 
little lonely." He got so bad about 10.30, 
the priest was sent for and gave him extreme 
unct'on. He was very simple and brave, 
and kissed my little ivory and silver crucifix 
and held it in his hand. He told me of his 



108 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 

mother and his little brother Jose ; he did 
not know where they were — he thought they 
would be in England. He spoke English well 
himself. Aladdin came to his other side, and 
we moistened his lips with wine and held him 
while he coughed, for his cough came in spasms 
and tortured him. I went down to lunch, 
but the Belgians looked at my red eyes and 
white face, and I couldn't eat. 

The afternoon wore past. Aladdin and I 
knelt beside him, and he was very splendid. 
" Do not cry for me, mademoiselle," he said 
once. " I am a soldier, and I am glad to die 
like one. I am not afraid to die. God is 
good. 

" Tell my mother, if ever you can see her, 
that I was happy when I died and thought of 
her. 

" Mademoiselle, what devotion for you 
English ladies to come and nurse us ! My only 
regret in dying is that I cannot live to show 
you how grateful a Belgian can be. 

" Do not weep, mademoiselle ; I am better 
dying here with you to care for me than many 
of my comrades who died away from every- 
body.'' 



THE HOSPITAL IN EARLY DAYS 109 

He was very beautiful. His face was as 
noble and fearless as his words ; and he was 
such a boy to die, such a child for all his strong 
limbs — he was only nineteen. His coughing 
fits were piteous, but he always smiled gently 
when they were past and said, " I am not 
afraid to die." 

Walton brought me tea to the door, and I 
gulped it down. Later they came and begged 
me to go for supper, but food is impossible 
to think of sometimes. At last I could bear the 
fatigue no longer. My knees were cramped, 
my back aching, and so, lest I should faint, 
and so distress the poor lad, I kissed his 
forehead and bade him farewell, and so 
stumbled from the room. Aladdin and Frank- 
lin stayed by him till release came at dawn. 
The pity of it ! — these brave young lives lost 
to us. The worlds beyond this must be very 
full of heroes now. 

There were many sufferers to think of and 
care for in those days. One day a stretcher 
case was carried in unconscious, a gaping 
head wound healing badly — the body thin and 
wasted — the legs mere skin and bone. I could 
span the ankle with my finger and thumb — 



no A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 

yet the lad must have been about twenty- 
four, and formerly of splendid physique. 
His mouth was full of solid food — gone wron^ ; 
— his back already broken in a gangrenous 
K . : .-sore. The doctors examined him, shrugged 
their shoulders, and walked out. Later an 
officer came with two men to remove him to 
a " head M hospital — in spite of his absolute 
exhaustion, aggravated by his removal from 
another hospital — because he was Belgian, 
so must be in a Belgian hospital. Here we 

'it red-tape and won — and for many 
weeks the poor lad was kept alive by the 
whole-hearted devotion of Nurse Jordan. She 
slaved for him ; he needed more constant 
(and unpleasant) work than any other . 
in the hospital, but her care told. Gradually, 
to the amazement of all, kk Harry " came 
back from the Land of Shadows. His eyes 
opened : in them interest and intelligence 
began to flicker. Lady Baird brought a water 

from England for him ; the bedsore, 
as it was, grew cleaner. u Harry M ate 
oranges, smoked one cigarette 
sit up at length, and month followed month 
until one dav he was carried on board the 



THE HOSPITAL IN EARLY DAYS in 

hospital-ship for England. That was a trans- 
formation, a solid proo of what care and 
devotion could do. The doctors never treated 
him, never examined him even ; vet from 
the half-dead, lifeless thing they brought in 
evolved the bright-eyed, rosy-tinted face, 
and a stronger, though still pitifully weak, 
frame that was sent to England. There, 
I regret to say, we lost sight of him ; a 
solemn promise to let us know where he was 
sent was broken by someone, and the work 
rolled on. " Harry " became a memorv — 
a name. 

Then the typhoid scourge grew. We had 
one case the day we took over ; a week later 
we had ten. A whole building -was given up 
to them, and all da}' long the typhoid staff 
worked. At first the coffin-cart rolled in and 
out of the yard with daily regularity, then 
its visits became less frequent, and gradually 
ceased altogether. And those who nursed 
the typhoids were not nurses whose long 
training and life-work was spent in nursing. 
They were gently-bred, high-spirited girls, 
who heard the call of misery and answered 
it. Under the supervision of ,; Sister-Sergeant 



ii2 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 

Wicks," they went about their monotonous, 
dull, unpleasant duty, and to it pave their 
hearts and their high courage and their pat:, 
and unselfishness. The weeks passed — the 
worst and most disagreeable part of the winter — 
but their courage and their enthusiasm never 
faltered. 

The scarcity of milk, eggs, and brandy was 
a problem that had to be tackled many times, 
and our Belgian quartermaster showed a 
wonderful energy in getting larger 
than the other hospitals could obtain. B 
too, were one of our unfulfilled ambitions. 
The men were more fortunate in many 

other hospitals in not having to lie on mat- 
tresses on the rloor, but the 
planks on iron trestles that made their beds 
left much to be i ; but here, again, the 

1 were kind. 

One v. i our E came 

to Calais, and on Suae ling a few of us 

dined with him at the hotel on the ; and 

good fortune (to call by the lowest name the 
force that guides all) sent hither also the 
S.M.O. of Calais — .1 gallant and kind-hearted 
officer, who never threw us a crumb of praise 



THE HOSPITAL IN EARLY DAYS 113 

when inspecting out hospital, but who made 
ample amends for that in his official reports 
to England. It sent, also. General Sir Arthur 
Slogget, kindliest and cheeriest of Directors- 
General, and Mr. Stanley, the most broad- 
minded and generous of men. Despite the 
importance of the conference that brought 
them to Calais, they had time to remember 
out little efforts to help, and three days later 
their interest was materially shown in the 
arrival of a splendid supply of spring beds, 
bedding, blankets, sheets, etc., etc. I did 
wish that the kindly donors had witnessed the 
delight of the patients ! 

All this time the staff had main- hardships 
to go through, the chief being the necessity 
of changing their billets every few days, and 
of going to different houses at night after a 
hard day's work. We sent the ambulance 
with them when possible, but it added to the 
administrative work greatly, for it meant 
going to the mairu to get new billets, then 
going round the billets to inspect them, and 
very often returning to the mairie to report 
empty houses, or inhabitants who flatly 
refused a room, or workmen's houses which 



ii4 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 

were quite unsuitable. Taciturn and almost 
insolent clerks had to be propitiated, and 
personal feelings had to go to the wall when 
one was confronted with the possibility of 
seventeen or eighteen English girls being left 
homeless — without beds to sleep in ! 

Many an afternoon has run into evening, 
and supper been relegated to a late hour, in 
this disheartening, thankless job. How I 
hated it ! — the endless explanations, the neces- 
sity of keeping one's temper under insulting 
remarks, the visits to strange houses, the 
rudeness of many of the proprietors, the 
constant red tape that sent me backwards 
and forwards from one official to the other. 
Unluckily it was a job I had always to do 
myself, as the other officer of our little band 
did not speak French. It was the same with 
the arrival of stores — all the fuss and worry 
attendant on getting them off the quai fell 
to me, as it meant more arguments and more 
French officials to cope with. Then I tried 
to get a house given us for sleeping accommo- 
dation, and, after endless refusals met with 
persistent new applications, after endless 
arguments and explanations and pleading, 



THE HOSPITAL IN EARLY DAYS 115 

and stormy scenes, I was sent to see the owner 
of an abandoned shop that had been offered 
as an overflow hospital. Bare rooms and 
dirty walls, one table, five chairs, and 20 beds 
composed the furniture, but it was rent 
free, and it was available at once. A little 
flattery and coaxing soon brought good- 
humoured assent from the owner, and the 
F.A.N.Y. had a " flat." 

What a relief it was to have a home to go to 
at night ! We painted the walls where the 
paper was hanging in shreds ; we cut out 
pictures and put them up round the room ; 
we got a few cushions — there was no more 
endless worry about billets. Four of us slept 
at the hospital in camp-beds — a trained nurse, 
the housekeeper, a chauffeur, and myself. We 
had a lumber-room behind us and slept in 
half our living-room. At night, if cases came, 
we were on the spot to decide if they could be 
kept or sent elsewhere. We had our meals 
in the kitchen, and picnic teas to which the 
English officers in Calais came occasionally. 
There was eternal hub-bub and noise, but we 
enjoyed it. For a few weeks an airwoman 
cooked our suppers and baked cakes and jam 



u6 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 

tarts. There was constant commotion. At 
night we fell into bed with a sigh of relief. 
The wounded loved us. When evacuation 
orders came these men would burst into tears, 
refuse their food, beg to be allowed to stay. 
We sent them off with heavy hearts. We were 
spokes on a tremendous wheel — orders must 
be obeyed. And so the days wore to Christ- 
mas, and that is a tale by itself. 



CHAPTER III 

CONVALESCENTS AND CHRISTMAS 

It was ten days before Christmas, and the 
Surgeon-General looked worried. His kindly 
smile was vague, his eyes wandered. 

" What is the matter, my General ? " I 
ventured to inquire ; and he looked at the 
Colonel, then at me. 

" Ah, mademoiselle," he said, u we can find 
no place for our typhoid patients who are 
past the worst, and we must make room for 
many others who arrive." 

" My General," I said half in jest, " I will 
find you a place." 

He and Colonel F. laughed. 

" Thank you, mademoiselle. Can you, then, 
succeed where we fail ? " 

" You shall have your convalescent home 
as a New Year's gift to the Belgians from the 
F.A.N.Y.s," I retorted. 

All that afternoon I was very silent. It 



n8 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 

was true I had spoken on the spur of the 
moment ; but the need was very great, and 
when the need is great there is always a 
way if one can but find it. That evening a 
sad story was brought to me. Four of our 
poor typhoids had been so far on the road to 
recovery they were taken from us to make 
room for worse cases. They were sent to 
another hospital, where they slept on straw 
and got little food and less milk. The die 
was cast. 

Next day, with Billy and Bond and the old 
Unic, I went along the coast. We tackled a 
hotel at Sangatte, but the proprietor was in 
Paris, and we could get no authoritative 
answer to our demand that we should take it 
over as a convalescent home. So then Billy 
and Bond remembered a chateau on the road 
to Boulogne, where Belgian soldiers had been 
billeted. It was very cold, but we raced along 
and came to the chateau. Leaving the car at 
the gates, we walked in, and were received 
in the hall (which was evidently in use as an 
orderly-room) by a major. 

" Monsieur," I said blandly, " we are 
English nurses in the service of the Belgian 



CONVALESCENTS AND CHRISTMAS 119 

Army. We have a hospital at Calais of 100 
beds. We want this chateau to send out 
convalescents to. How soon can you find 
your men other accommodation ? " 

To say that the poor man was surprised 
would be hardly adequate. His mouth opened, 
his eyes bulged, and at last he gasped : 

" But, mademoiselle, we are using this 
chateau ; it is ours. And it is not suitable for 
sick men ; it is cold and damp, and there are 
only three rooms left open." 

So we amicably visited the kitchen and the 
other rooms. I had to admit it was not all 
one could desire for convalescents. But I 
would not give up hope. 

" If we find nothing better we shall return. 
Monsieur would not let the sick suffer for want 
of the chateau^ I am sure." 

As we stood at the gate we saw an elderly 
priest climbing the hill towards us. With a 
sudden instinct, Bond and I tackled him. 

" Good evening ! Monsieur is perhaps the 
cure of the village ? " 

Monsieur not only was curi but replied in 
fluent English. He not only was a French 
priest, but had an Irish mother. He loved us 



120 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 

on the spot. He had an empty hall that he 
kept for church entertainments ; it would 
hold 25 convalescents. He mounted the car. 
We escorted him home ; we inspected and 
accepted the hall ; we talked of drainage, 
and accommodation, and everything possible. 
Next morning, with triumph in my heart, 
I told the General, in a casual voice, that the 
convalescent home was found and would be 
ready on Christmas Eve. Thereafter followed 
the question of beds and blankets. A hurried 
visit to England four days before Christmas 
included a rush to the British Red Cross, and 
the generous grant of 25 more beds for our 
typhoids from Mr. Stanley. So the old 
wooden beds were disinfected and went out 
in an ambulance to St. Ingilvert ; the blankets 
and mattresses followed, and then the patients 
and two girls to look after them, cook and cater, 
and keep them in order. And then the 
authorities woke up to the fact of what had 
happened, and even spoke of withdrawing 
passes for the cars to St. Ingilvert, and 
vaguely protested that they had not con- 
sented to convalescents going there. But 
possession generally ensures victory, and the 



CONVALESCENTS AND CHRISTMAS 121 

convalescents remained until they were 
cured. 

The enterprise was unique. The staff 
consisted of only two girls — a mistake, per- 
haps, viewed in the light of later experiences ; 
but they worked nobly, and not till long 
afterwards did I realise that they had been 
doing the work of four. Anyhow, the patients 
grew fat and rosy-cheeked. 

They used to rise at 6, have roll-call, and 
breakfast ; then they made their beds and 
tidied up, under supervision of one girl, 
whilst the other got the dinner ready ; then 
after a good meal they were taken en masse 
for a walk, had coffee and biscuits on entering, 
played games, read, and smoked till supper 
time ; then after washing up they went to 
bed. The two F.A.N.Y.'s slept in an adjoin- 
ing farmhouse ; the cure would willingly have 
provided them with a room, but the laws of 
his Church made it impossible unless they had 
both been over forty, whereas their joint 
ages did not reach fifty ! 

The cure has been a staunch friend ever 
since, and he and his old housekeeper nearly 
wept when after three months the Belgians 



122 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 

secured Camp du Ruchard for their con- 
valescents, and St. Ingilvert knew us no 
more. 

Christmas came at Calais, and we got trees 
with great difficulty, and candles and orna- 
ments, and spent a busy Christmas Eve pre- 
paring all things. At midnight we went softly 
round each ward and placed a complete outfit 
of new clothes (t.*., shirt, vest, pants, socks, 
scarf, mittens, and handkerchief) by each 
man's bed. Every bed was full, and we had 
two extra. 

The General came, and received a little 
lucky pig cfT the tree. Tears came to the dear 
old man's eyes, and for a moment he was 
choked with emotion. The Belgian heart 
is very easily touched, and shows the generosity 
of the Belgian character. 

Everyone got a present from the trees. 
Wards 2 and 3 had a tree in the operating 
theatre, and all came round it. Ward 1, 
where all were helpless cases, had a tree to 
themselves, and wards 4, 5, and 6 had a large 
tree where all could see it. 

What a spread we had too — cakes and 
shortbread and sweets 1 And all the orderlies 



CONVALESCENTS AND CHRISTMAS 123 

and patients, and many officers and doctors 
besides our own, and an English naval officer, 
were the guests. We dragged the piano to 
the head of the stairs ; and how the men loved 
the songs and the choruses ! The pianist-in- 
chief was an orderly who had been a professor 
of music at Louvain. A week before Christmas 
he had a nervous breakdown, and on Christinas 
morning his temperature was 10 1 ; but his 
sole obsession was to play the piano for the 
" Miss," and so he worked himself into such 
a frenzy the doctors said it would be safer 
for him to get up and play than to be kept in 
bed by force. How happy he was, too ! His 
cheeks were flushed ; his long, thin nostrils 
quivering ; his eyes dilated. He played on 
and on. Poor lad ! he has been in bed ever 
since. For weeks after his case puzzled the 
doctors, and then he was sent south with 
tubercular disease. 

After the tea was over (it lasted till 7 o'clock) 
an English Tommy came and sang to the men 
in the different wards. Then we had dinner 
in the kitchen, with plum-pudding and turkey, 
and at last, very weary, we dragged ourselves 
to bed about 11 o'clock. As most of us had 



124 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 

been to early church at 6 that morning we 
were thankful to turn in. 

A week later came the Belgians' turn. They 
asked us to come into the kitchen at midnight 
on New Year's Eve. We were greeted by the 
whole staff, who made long speeches about 
" the English misses and their devotion, and 
how we had left our homes to care for their 
homeless wounded." And they all wept, so 
much did their speeches touch their hearts ; 
and I tried to reply suitably, and assure them 
that we were honoured in helping the heroes 
who had saved Europe from the hordes 
of the Hun. Then the adjutant kissed the 
cook (an old soldier, I had better explain), 
and the cook embraced the sergeant, and in 
fact the Belgian staff all wept and embraced 
each other. Then the cook and the chef de 
service insisted on executing a weird and 
wonderful dance, and sang all the time a 
Flemish ditty that we did not understand. 
Then we all joined hands and sang " Auld 
Lang Syne " which they did not understand, 
and then we bade them farewell and went off 
in the Unic to " first-foot " the British Senior 
Medical Officer and the Naval Transport 



CONVALESCENTS AND CHRISTMAS 125 

Officer. Alas ! the former fiery Irishman was 
in bed, and did not understand Scotch customs, 
and the porter whom we sent to waken him 
returned hastily, swearing that nothing would 
induce him to go near the Colonel's door again. 

So we wound up at a far-off hospital where 
there were British doctors and nurses ; but 
alas ! the four Scotch doctors were tee- 
totallers, and looked sleepy and bored, and 
so we returned to our own quarters to snatch 
a few hours' sleep before morning. 

So passed our first Christmas at Calais, and 
had anyone told us then that we should spend 
our next Christmas in France we should have 
treated them with scorn. 



CHAPTER IV 

LIFE AT A REGIMENTAL AID POST 

When the battalion doctors chose an 
abandoned cottage on the roadside they only 
asked for shelter from the rain and cold and 
mud — comforts were there none. Picture, 
then, our little poste. The door opened into 

all square room, with two chairs and a 
table ; oil this were a tiny room (which held 

all round table about the size of a card- 
table and two chairs) and the kitchen, in one 

I r of which was the well which supplied 
the house with drinking water : overl 

a long, lew loft, where 40 to ;o soldiers 
slept on bare k ards. Here, then, we estab- 

d ourselves. 
The outer room was used by all and sundry. 
Every morning from S to q large numbers of 
men came from the trenches half a mile away 
to report sick, or get slight wounds dressed. 
They stood in a mass in the doorway and 
entered two bv two. Dr. Hannsens and little 



LIFE AT A REGIMENTAL AID POST 127 

Dr. L examined them, and we stood by 

ready to put on a fresh dressing or administer 
a dose of medicine. To each one we put the 
same question : u Have you a good shirt and 
good socks ? M And the necessary articles were 
ready. Must of the men did Dot stand on 
ceremony, Their eager iv Merci beaucoup, 
mam'selle," was followed by a dirty raj 
shin being thrown on the floor and the new 
one hastily donned, Socks, too ! . . . Owe 
lad told me he had worn his socks two and a 
half months, and truly they looked like it I 
Their simple gratitude was very touching. 

Then the men went out and fresh ones 
entered, When the morning "out-patients" 
was over, Sayer and 1 usually accompanied 
the doctor to some part of the trenches. Once 
the way lay along the railway, where large 
slull holes made the going difficult. Shrapnel 
ltd over us, and we stood to watch the 

result. In a field at the corner sonic troop 

horses were tied up. 

Poor beasts ! When we returned 15 of 
them lay with their heels in the air. The 
doctors considered the railway too unhealthy, 

so we struck off across a held. It was heavy 



1*8 A F.A.X.Y. IX FRANCE 

ig, and we were clinging to the usual 
bundles of shirts and socks and cigarettes. 
To add to the difficulty, rain c down 

in torrents. We reached a c unmunics 

trench, and Dr. L and I fell into this 

and stumbled along. My field-boots were 
up to the knees in mud. my skirt was turned 
up round my waist, my overcoat thick with 
slush. It v. ring journey, and we were 

glad to climb out and cross a held under cover 
of a stragglv hedge. We came on a d 
but cheery officer. He greeted us joyously, 
and a & for himself some handkerchiefs, 

then guided us to what looked like a badly- 
turfed bank. He clapped his hands, and the 
bank heaved ; large pieces of turf were 
cautiouslv pulled aside, and rows of jolly faces 
appeared. 

" What will you have, monsieur : M 

" Ah, but a clean shirt, mam'selle, but a 
thousand thanks ! The English are always 
kind." 

Then another cheery face would peer out 
like a rabbit from its hole : 

" If mademoiselle had a pair of socks ! 
. . . Oh, but the English are good ! " 



LIFE AT A REGIMENTAL AID POST 120 

And so on till we wore left with empty arms 
and apologies for the stoek giving out and 
assurances that more would come. 

No casualties had occurred — the weather 
was so bad the Bodies weie keeping under 
shelter. So we went back, dirty and muddy, 
to our hut, where Walton had a hot and 
steaming lunch to welcome us. Rations 
included tins of " platrc," a sort of corned beef, 
and this chopped up and mashed with potatoes 
formed our usual meal. Then we had bread 
and coffee — very black and very strong — and 
washed up for the afternoon. This afternoon 
we were invited to coffee at 4 p.m. with the 
doctors of another battalion. 

They were celebrating the fact that Dr. 

\ an de \Y had received the Cross of the 

on of Honour. He had carried two 
wounded scunners to safety, and then returned 
to a trench just as the Germans reached it to 
care for a wounded officer. Later on he 
>ed from the Bodies and came back to 
his work. He was a smart little man, with a 
keen, alert face, and his comrades had drawn 
with coal on the walls imaginary and wonderful 
incidents of his career, closing in reality, and 



i ;o A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 

showing the rescue of the gunners and his 
intre . urn to the trench as the Gerr 

.- had made him a wi 
!, which they clapped on V 

5. That morning an orderly had 
• Les on his bicycle to fetch cham- 
d ! We wei 
— six it ^:o\-<. a commanc 

shman w] 
in fr rm of wind : . the 

biscuit 
and. S . the 

u was strange indeed. W< c 
The little, loi 

He was 

back : to him it was an unh< 
tui 

merriment I 
I kn >n the door, and next 

■ • . nd a ■'•;• 

rhite of . rifle 

and, av in its 

sleeve tied up 
After him came a man carrviuc a 
stre:: and the second stretcher-be. 



LIFE AT A REGIMENTAL AID POST 131 

k went our chairs and coffee cups, and in 

a moment the hero of the feast was ripping 
the trouser leg of the moaning figure and we 
were bandaging the shoulder and hand of the 
other man. The leg was an ugh' sight, and 
before it was dressed another stretcher was 
carried in, and a lad with half his head shot off 
lay at our feet. Outside a lull came in the 
storm, and as the rain ceased the clouds cleared 
and a dull red sunset flamed across the sky. 

As the ambulance rolled off with its burden 
of pain Sayei and I stood for a moment to 
watch the skv. Up came an armoured train — 
quite near us over the rails we had walked 
along that morning. It rolled up, cumbersome, 
quaint and wicked-looking, and came to a 
standstill a few hundred yards away. Fasci- 
nated, we stood watching. From the s 
a mass of figures seemed to clamber and rush 
round, and then boom, boom, and a cloud of 
smoke melted into the twilight. Bro . . . 
00m — broo . . . 00m, boom — boom, growled 
the angry £ims at Dixmude, where the 
Bodies had received the shot. 

Bom-bom, spat the train, and boom — 
boom, came the answer. It was an unfor- 



*3 2 



A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 



gettable thing. Up here alone, far from 
civilisation, very far from the homes where 
perhaps our people thought of us, but cer- 
tainly did not imagine our surroundings — 
here we were, girls of the twentieth century in 
this atmosphere of storm and war living what 
suivlv few women ever dreamt in their wildest 
fancies until this war began. This was life ! 
My ears tingled ; I breathed in long, deep 
.:hs. Had I spoken, a sort of wild war song 
woidd have come from my lips. The Highland 
blood in me bubbled and frothed ; I wanted 
to run for miles — r to climb — action at 

all costs. And then . . . well, along the 
came wear)', stumbling figures, and most 
of them carried stretchers or long strange 
bundles. There was no r or triumph 

here, no wild war cry and exaltation — just 
these men, dirt)' and muddy and footsore, 
bringing in their comrades, broken and 
maimed and moaning ... or very quiet. . . . 
The sunset and the tight between the 
armoured train and the German guns at 
Dixmude lost their glamour. War was no 
romantic heroic this dreary reality 

of gaping wounds and quivering tlesh. These 



LIFE AT A REGIMENTAL AID POST 13] 

men were Ear from their homes. They had 
left their wives and children, all they loved — 

their lives of comfort and good food and 

warm hresiJ.es ; and their rewards were not 
laurels and the plaudits of a rejoicing and 
grateful crowd, No, their rewards were 
shrapnel and torn limbs, hours of pain and 
ry, mud and eold and wet, and much 
tossing from plaee to place ; bar they smiled 
and said "Thank you ! " when a painful 
dressing was finished. These were the men of 
the Yser — shorn of romance and poetry, 
pitiful and human and noble beyond all words ; 
heroes indeed, and heroes of the world. 

It was late that night when we passed into 
the darkness to grope onr way back to our 

own post — SO dark, that when I slipped and 
my foot came to rest on the body of the man 
who did not live to go on in the ambulance 
the others did not see why I was silent, nor 
why my voice was shaky for a few minutes, 
nor that my thoughts rested with the poor 
corpse who lay there alone under a thick 
blanket. 

A diversion occurred that caused much 
amusement. In our absence my brother had 



134 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 

arrived from Calais with the Unic, and we 
found him, black with mud, mending a tyre 
in the roadway. His task completed, he came 
through to wash in the kitchen, and I left 
him getting off layers of mud into a bucket 
of warm water. Later he joined us. 

" Have you emptied your bucket ? " I 
asked, as I had not heard the heavy outer 
door open. 

" Oh, yes," he replied ; " I emptied it 
down the sink in the kitchen." 

A horrid thought came to me. 

" There is no sink," I exclaimed, " only the 
well of drinking water in the corner." 

Sure enough it was there the dirty water 
had gone, and someone even murmured that 
the coffee that night had a flavour all its own. 

We had a hot meal of coffee and bread and 
syrup, and then we girls drew our straw from 
the pile thrown in by the orderlies, and 
covered the floor of the tiny room and folded 
our tunics to make a cushion for our heads, 
and got our blankets out, one for each. In 
the big room the doctors slept on straw also, 
and in the little kitchen twelve soldiers were 
snoring and grunting. The guns boomed ; 



LIFE AT A REGIMENTAL AID POST 135 

the smells from the backyard were overpower- 
ing ; the cold was horrid ; our damp stockings 
did not keep the straw from pricking our 
feet ; my poisoned finger was throbbing. 
This was war ! And the wounded ! Yes, 
there were wounded — where ? Somewhere . . . 
and this was sleep. 



CHAPTER V 

A DAY OF ODD JOBS 

One day in the spring of 191 5 Chris and I 
started off for the front with " Flossie," the 
little Ford ambulance. It was a perfect 
day, a cold wind blowing but a blue sky over- 
head. The road between Calais and Dunkirk 
flew past ; the walls of Gravelines and the 
narrow winding streets were left behind. 
Dunkirk itself was gay with zouaves in their 
baggy red trousers. Along by the canal we 
raced — past ponderous convoys toiling up 
with their loads. Many a staff car and 
" ravitaillement " wagon met us and sped 
on their ways. And so to Furnes, no longer 
the busy centre of activity it had been earlier, 
but a desolate town with one or two large 
shell holes in the square. No shops, no cafes, 
except in the side streets — all was quiet and 
deserted. So we left Furnes, too, behind. 
Along the straight bare road we whizzed, and 



A DAY OF ODD JOBS 137 

now not far off we heard the old familiar 
booming. We passed the picket at Pervyse, 
and there drew up to make inquiries. As we 
halted we caught sight of two Englishmen 
pacing slowly along a side path, looking at 
the rows of damaged houses — the streets 
of ruin — and on recognising one as Major 

G , a familiar figure in Belgian lines, we 

hailed him. He introduced his companion, 
Lord Curzon, and on learning our errand they 
made further inquiry, and let us know that 
the fighting was in the neighbourhood of 
Oostvleteren. We ran on past the field with 
its 300 shell holes that had formed our first 
landmark in November. Our old " poste " 
at the cross-roads was occupied by strangers, 
who hailed us with delight, and with them we 
left a few hundred cigarettes and some socks 

for the Division. A shell, mistaking 

its direction, came crashing to earth on the 
roadway near by, so we hastened our farewells 
and shot off past the little church that had 
been bombarded steadily for months. It was 
still standing, but the troops once quartered 
in the cottages round about had been with- 
drawn. The canal bridge, where the morning 



138 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 

washing parade was held regularly in Decem- 
ber, was deserted. No life seemed to exist 
in that once busy spot ; and the shrapnel 
whizzing over us in the sky, directed against 
the railway to our right, was a sign of the 
times. We slowed up at Lampernisse, and 
sadness seized us. The church was down. 
I recalled its friendly tower — the throng of 
soldiers that had surrounded it, the gay faces 
of the little blue Belgians that had met one 
cheerily on every side. To-day there was 
quiet and stillness, and the outer walls of the 
church were represented by heaps of loose 
stones. Inside the pillars stood — broken 
wall, broken altar ; fragments of glass and 
melted lead from the windows that had been. 
As we watched, the cure appeared, sad of 
face. He came to us simply, and at our few 
faltering words tears came to his eyes. 

" There were 40 wounded inside," he said 
gently ; " we saved all we could." A grave 
at my feet was churned up — broken bits of 
wood stuck upright in the earth ; a heavy 
stone monument had turned sideways and 
lurched forward like a drunken man ; and 
something else lay near, thrown out of the 



A DAY OF ODD JOBS 139 

earth to which in happier days the priest had 
committed it. I shuddered involuntarily. 
The cure asked if we could take one of his 
remaining parishioners to safety : she was 
old and bedridden ; her cottage was there in 
the shadow of the church. Shells came daily 
and at any time one might strike the roof that 
sheltered her. We took a stretcher up the 
tiny path, and in at the little door. There on 
the floor on a mattress lay an old withered 
woman. We carried her out gently, the 

cure helping. General J passed — a brave 

and kindly man, adored by the soldiers. He 
remembered us, and approved our action. 
Then he asked us to lunch with him on our 
return journey. 

We started off slowly and evenly and 
reached Alveringhem, where the cure had told 
us a convent of nuns took in such old and 
helpless peasants. Alas ! the mother superior 
refused. Nothing would shake her decision ; 
she would have no more — her hands were 
full. I looked round the large waiting-room, 
and begged her to let the poor old thing he 
there. But it could not be. So we went on 
several miles farther, and were directed to a 



1 40 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 

home kept by an Englishwoman for refugees. 
We sent messengers on every side to find her 
— unsuccessfully — so we left the old woman in 
the house in charge of the other refugees, as 
we could find no one with authority. We left 
full particulars and departed. We were late, 
as the difficulty in finding shelter for our 
charge had been greater than we anticipated. 

We lunched off sandwiches en route, and 
explained our non-appearance for lunch at 

Divisional Headquarters. General J was 

very charming, and gave us tea and invited 
us to lunch for another day. 

We had arranged to dine at an artillery mess 
at Ramscappelle, and so hurried on there. 
Things were fairly lively, and after a wonderful 
dinner we had some music, and then in the 
darkness went up to the trenches. The rockets 
and flares were fascinating. Viewed from afar 
thc\- are strangely remote, but very friendly 
here, when one crouched down amongst all 
these gallant men — soldiers and heroes whose 
country had been torn from them, whose 
wrongs cry out for vengeance, whose simple 
response to honour saved the whole of Europe 
from being overrun by the barbarous Boches. 



A DAY OF ODD JOBS 141 

We made sure the doctors had no cases to 
dispose of, and returned to the brickyard, 
where " Flossie " waited patiently. The 
flares and a pocket flashlight were all the 
light we had, and we got of! across bumpy 
roads — in and out of shell holes. Once we 
nearly had a nasty smash, but that was near 
Furnes. A convoy of great heavy wagons 
had been left on the wrong side of the road, 
and as lights were not permitted and the 
night very dark Chris was driving slowly 
and warily — peering into the shadows. She 
brought " Flossie " to a violent halt, our 
bonnet touching the first of these unwieldy 
monsters ! 

Three days later General J sent his 

motor cyclist to bring us out to lunch. The 
courtesy was indeed great, as the lad had 
50 miles to come, if not more. Unluckily 
he had a smash, and rode back on the step of 
our car. He was a type of the modern Belgian 
youth. Well-bred, clever, with frank, humorous 
eyes, and the adorable smile of a " Parisian 
gamin," he kept us amused all the way. His 
comments were racy, and always gallant. 

"I am no longer a simple soldier ; I am 



i|2 A F.A.X.Y. IN FRANCE 

corporal. The General has clone that — because 
of you others, there is no doubt." 

And his merry eyes challenged us to dis- 
ve that a simple soldier would not be 
cort. 

"■ Yes, we ." lie would say : " yes, 

but it is sad too. I a: \ and I have no 

her — no, not from the day the war 
ut, I have written, yes, but she 
not . . It is gay the war, 

mad.: - ; 

And a little later, with his chil - KTOt: 
k * I have had a letter from my mother. She is 
in Brussels: she . : es not find ear gay. 

She cann< I 

His shrill whistle, prolonged on a certain 
note, took as p [barricades, 

"You see, the Beige* caL There, 

hear me whistle like a birc . Passei 1 

ax ! ' " 

The wind was keen and the re. asy, 

but Chr - a rock, her g 

grey eye s D the future, her mobile 

face calm and tranquil. Jean was piqued, 

*' 1. .un'selle, Chris is absorbed. She 

drives, yes ; but she will not listen to our 



A DAY OF ODD JOBS 145 

charter. She has no rime to smile then. Oh, 
these ladies who drive ears ! M 

Chris (who had danced and shared in peace- 
ful days with rite little cyclist) turned her r 
smile in his 1 1 a, and he forgave. 

We arrived at length, at the farmhouse where 
Divisional Headquarters were. The General 
was busy, but greeted us warmly. He sent 
for liqueurs, ar the appearance of which Chris 
s d diplomatically nearer the coal-scuttle. 
The G< a< •• d produced his mascot, a woolly 
dog sent by a lady from England. He showed 
us also his grand chain and Order of Leopold 
Premier given him for his gallantry ar Dix- 
mude. Then we had lunch — and such a 
luncheon as any London restaurant would have 
been proud to serve. Suddenly the telephone 
rang. Taubes were bombarding a village 
near ar hand. Even as the adjutant rang off 
and reported to the General we heard the 
engine throbbing overhead. We all ran out 
to the yard to watch the graceful death-deal- 
ing machine circling in the clear sky. Then it 
flew on and glided out of sight. The General 
showed me his two horses lying down in a 
little shed near. 



i 4 4 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 

I forgot to mention that before lunch he 
took us up to his bedroom to wash, and dis- 
played with simple pride the bed he shared 
with his major and the other bed which two 
captains occupied. Accommodation was 
limited 1 He also produced a bottle of scent 
for our use ! 

Then he sent for his car, and with Major 

we set off for the nearest battery. 

The chauffeur cared not for speed limits, 
and a wild rush landed us in a very short 
time at the corner of a field. We walked 
across this to inspect a battery of small 
guns. Then we went on, carefully avoiding 
the wire of a field telephone to an advanced 
gun position. As we neared what looked like 
a ridge of trees we saw that these also were 
cunningly contrived to conceal the guns. 
This was a new battery of which the officer 
in charge was very proud. He told us what 
good work they had done within the last 
ten days. They had only been sent up then. 
In another hour he suggested we might judge 

for ourselves ; but General J did not deem 

it prudent, so we thanked the officer and the 
cheery gunners for all the trouble they had 




WHERE THE HUN HAS PASSED. 




WAYSIDE GRAVES. 



A DAY OF ODD JOBS 145 

taken. Here, too, the dug-outs were beauti- 
fully finished off — even little panes of glass 
were let in as windows. 

The General then took us to a bridge on the 
canal where fishing was occasionally indulged 
in. The doctor who had lunched with us 
appeared, and with great glee produced a 
hand grenade which he flung in the water. 
The explosion was followed by a geyser-like 
rising of the water, and then hundreds of dead 
fishes floated to the surface and were caught 
in a net and safely landed ! 

Just then an officer joined us to ask if we 
could take away from the nearest village four 
little children and their mother, who was 
shortly expecting another baby. The village 
was being bombarded, and the little family 
were in terror. We gladly acquiesced, and the 
General took us back in his car ; we got 
11 Le Petit Camerade " (our second Ford 
ambulance) into action and departed, Jean, the 
motor cyclist, being sent by the General to see 
us on our way. We collected the poor little 
mother and her four sturdy little boys, wrapped 
them well up in scarves and balaclavas, and 
took them to the English lady's refugees' 



146 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 

home. Again, unluckily, we failed to find 
her. Jean ran round himself to look for her, 
and at last, after waiting for an hour, we left 
the little family there and departed. 

The relief of the good woman was touching. 
She was not like the other woman with nine 
children, a husband, and a pig, whom we 
tried in vain to rescue. The doctors of a 
certain division were perturbed by the danger 
run by the nine children (whose ages were from 
two to eleven), who had to lie in a damp trench 
for four hours every day whilst their village 
was bombarded. After much argument, the 
woman consented to leave, and we arranged 
with the Refugee Committee in Calais to take 
them over, and we sent a big car out to fetch 
them. However, when it came to the point, 
the mother refused to leave the pig ; all 
persuasion was useless, and the car took the 
father and the nine to Calais. Two days later 
he got permission to take his nine children 
for a walk ; and they never returned. News 
was heard of them walking back the 50 miles 
to rejoin their mother and the pig ! 

Having left the four little fellows waving 
to us from the doorstep, we retraced the road 



A DAY OF ODD JOBS 147 

and arrived at Pervyse. Here we said good- 
bye to Jean and took the road to Ramscappelle. 
The sentries at first refused to let us pass, as 
the road was being shelled, but we were in a 
hurry, so they yielded. We left the car at one 
point and took shelter in the ruins of a 
cottage, but a shell also landed there, knock- 
ing one of the shattered walls to pieces, and 
so we deemed it more prudent to rejoin the 
" Petit Camerade " and race for our lives. A 
burst of derisive laughter followed us. Un- 
knowingly we had been on the edge of a 
Belgian trench ! 

As we neared Ramscappelle a soldier leapt 
towards us with a warning cry. We heard the 
cold shriek above our heads that denoted 
trouble coming ; and Chris set her mouth a 
trifle sternly, rammed her foot on the accele- 
rator, and we were past just as the house 
staggered towards us and fell, blocking the 
road behind us. We glanced round ; the 
soldier who had shouted waved reassuringly, 
and we turned into the old brickyard. A few 
fresh shells had fallen, and beside the path 
were two little graves marked with wooden 
crosses that had not been there last time we 



148 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 

passed. We found a suitable place to leave 
the " Petit Camerade " against a wall of bricks 
piled high. The ground was rough and greasy. 
We hurried to the cottage where the artillery 
mess was, and the whizzing and whistling 
overhead denoted " activity on the front." 
In fact we ran at top speed up that garden 
path and hammered on the door. Friendly 
faces greeted us, and we were soon inside 
and the table was being laid. 

Our hosts got us a jug of cold water and a 
basin, and we proceeded to wash on a chair in 
the corner of the room, the commandant and 
three other officers being interested spectators. 
Then we sat down to dinner and had soup and 
fish and meat ; and then, ye gods ! asparagus 
and cheese and fruit — a right noble repast. 
The windows were barred and shuttered, 
but all around we heard the heavy boom of 
big guns, the angry screaming of shells. As 
the meal drew to an end the two telephones 
in the room got busy. There were, I think, 
fifteen officers and ourselves, and two of the 
subalterns were at the receivers : 

" Yes, my wife is in England. She is so 
happy there ; she loves the English, and there 



A DAY OF ODD JOBS 149 

is no sign of war." The commandant was 
interrupted in his peaceful picture by the 
sharp voices of the telephonists. 

" 'Alio, 'alio, 'alio ! Find the trench major. 
'Alio ! What ? No, the major, find the 
major ; I would speak with the major. No — 
the major ..." 

The wild glare of the exasperated man who 
wanted the major met the equally ferocious 
stare of the man who held the other wire, 
and whose voice had all this time been cutting 
through his. 

" 'Alio, 'alio ! Yes, this is the Artillery ; 
yes, he is here. 'Alio ! What ? When ? 
At what hour ? What ? Speak up ! Cre 
nom de Dieu, speak clearly ! Pardon, mon 
Colonel. To-night towards eleven hours. 
Yes, mon Colonel. It is understood." 

By this time the table talk had risen — some- 
thing was under discussion . . . Our voices 
rose ; the two telephonists voices rose also. 
My eyes met Chris's ; we could not help laugh- 
ing — this was like a scene from a pantomime. 

" Sapristi ! " The man who still wanted 
the major could not forbear longer. 

"Silence — I beg of you. Silence. Be 



ISO A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 

quiet, you with that telephone. 'Alio, 'alio ! 
Find the trench major." 

From the other side of the room the other 
man spoke : 

" Be quiet with your own telephone. 'Alio, 
'alio ! Yes — yes. Gentlemen — ladies — I pray 
you be silent. 'Alio 1 Yes — mon Colonel. 
Oh, what is then — Lieutenant who ? " 

And so on ! We were asked to write our 
names in the pocket-books of all our hosts. 
Then someone said " Music," and in a 
moment we were all round the piano that had 
been brought from a shelled farmhouse in our 
honour. The telephones were still busy, and one 
young lieutenant got orders to go to the top 
of a very tall chimney that remained standing 
" to observe, as there was a certain movement 
along the front." His comrades mocked him, 
crisping their fingers, as if climbing hand over 
hand up the long iron ladders. 

" You make a good target, George," one 
wit said soothingly. 

George bade us good-night, looking annoyed. 
We heard him in the passage directing his 
sergeant to go up the chimney and waken 
him if necessary ! 



A DAY OF ODD JOBS 151 

Chris played and sang song after song ; 
every chorus caught up and re-echoed. Then 
in a lull we heard steps outside and a heavy 
banging on the shutter, and as we listened a pure 
tenor voice lilted : 

" Good-bye, Piccadilly, 

Good-bye, Leicester Square; 
It's a long, long way to Tipperary, 
But my heart's right there." 

" De de ! " everyone shouted, and 

Captain de entered, smiling. 

" Where have you come from ? " we asked, 
for we had last seen him at Calais. 

" My battery is seven miles from here, and 
they telephoned to me vou ladies were here, so 
behold me ! " 

We had more songs, and then the Belgian 
National Anthem. It was a fine and inspiring 
thing to hear — sung from their hearts by these 
big, strong men who were offering their lives 
daily for their king and country, and sung as 
it was to the tune played by Chris, with her 
lovely girlish face, and the deep booming of 
the guns to render it still more effective. I 
shall never forget it. 

Then out in the darkness we groped our 



1 52 A F.A.N. Y. IN FRANCE 

way to our car, thinking the day's adventures 
were ended. Along the sky the rockets and 
star shells blazed and spluttered, lighting 
us for the moment, and then leaving the 
darkness still more oppressive around us. It 
took much pushing and shoving to get the 
" Petit Camerade " on to the roadway, and 
our hosts bade us good-bye heartily, though 
in whispers, as we were very near the " move- 
ment along the front." 



CHAPTER VI 

A NIGHT IN NIEUPORT 

It was very dark that night on leaving 
Ramscappelle as we halted at the "Infirmerie" 
at the cross-road to ask if they had anyone 
to send in. The doctor was out — in the 
trenches probably — but the orderly reported 
there were wounded in Nieuport. After a 
few minutes' discussion we left the car beside 
the Infirmerie door, and, laden with the big 
field haversack, started off on foot. The road 
was lonely, and we groped our way, crossed 
the bridge, and held on to the right. We spoke 
little, for we were tired, and so came along the 
side of a wood to where another road branched 
off. We were brought to a quick stop by a 
high-pitched voice shouting, and discerned 
a sentinel, his rifle pointed in our direction, 
his voice agitated. I yelled " Officiers," 
Chris yelled " Croix Rouge," and together 
we shouted at him " Liege," or whatsoever the 



154 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 

word was that night. If the wood had been 
full of Germans they would have heard us ; 
as it was, our good sentinel repeated his 
challenge, and we hurled the word at his head 
with all the breath in our bodies, for we liked 
not that rifle pointed full at us. He hesitated 
and at last had a brain-wave. 

" Advance one and give the word," he said, 
and hand in hand we tiptoed towards him and 
whispered in his ear the word we had hurled 
at him from afar. The effect was magical ! 

" Pass, mesdemoiselles — pass ; it is cold, 
is it not ? Ah, these roads ! I like them not." 

" Horrid work for you," we ventured 
sympathetically, and got the information 
that he was a volunteer, and did not join 
the army with the thought of lonely nights 
at windy cross-roads. It was nervous work ; 
but what would one have, after all ? It has 
to be done ; and some day, why some day, 
the war will end and the German swine be 
driven from poor little Belgium. A packet 
of cigarettes won warm gratitude, and we 
walked on and were soon lost in the darkness. 

All this time the sound of big guns and the 
rush of rockets and flares skyward marked 



A NIGHT IN NIEUPORT 155 

the Line — that wonderful heroic Line ! Then 
we were in a street with a trench all along the 
canal bank on one side and a row of silent 
cottages on the other. Here and there a 
cottage had fallen from its place in the ranks, 
and its walls and roof lay across the roadway 
or pushed into a heap roughly. We reached 
the end and hesitated, for a road went to the 
right towards the rocket flares ; a road went 
to the left round a corner. We turned left- 
wards — for we sought the town — and swung 
round the corner in the darkness into lines of 
men and rifles. We walked on, wondering a 
little, but not daring to talk, and suddenly 
a big figure barred our way and we were 
challenged. We explained our errand, and an 
officer appeared. These were the French lines, 
and he directed us to the English sailors' 
dressing-station, where, he said, there were 
wounded. A little sergeant came with us to 
the corner and put us on our way, and so we 
walked up the hill one behind the other, for a 
long line of soldiers was coming towards us 
single file. They eyed us as we passed, but 
the darkness veiled us from each other, 
though I heard one wondering voice say : 



156 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 

" Mother of God ! are there women here ? " 

And one little man twisted his head round 
and sent after us a soft 

"Good-night, mademoiselle, God keep you ! " 

Gradually a wider street lay before us, and 
we were stopped by a patrol of French marines, 
who explained our whereabouts and continued 
on their way. 

Houses with gaping wounds in their walls 
were everywhere — houses with no upper floor. 
Heaps of loose stones and masonry had to be 
crossed ; in places the streets were almost 
impassable. The stars had come out now, 
and there was a pale moon, and we could 
note our surroundings better. 

One street corner I remember well. A large 
corner house was much broken up. The big 
lower rooms lay open ; the floor above 
was a mass of stones and furniture — chairs 
and tables were mixed with remnants of 
ceiling that had crashed through, and waved 
protesting legs upwards. We had to pick our 
way across the roadway, for it was one huge 
mass of debris. Bits of curtains and carpets 
were discernible. 

Once Chris saved me from walking straight 



A NIGHT IN NIEUPORT 157 

into a cellar : the covering was off, and it 
must have been a veritable death trap ! Once 
in another cellar we caught a glimpse of a 
soldier cooking his supper on a small lamp. 
In one street, where the upper storeys no 
longer stood and the lower were barred, we 
heard songs and merriment ; and on we 
walked, till suddenly a great pile stood 
against the sky. The cathedral, I suppose. 
Its towers were damaged, and here and there 
shells had struck it, and we longed to see it 
by daylight. We walked on and on, but no 
sign of the dressing-station caught our eye. 
At last we stopped. It was about 1 a.m., 
and an eerie feeling of unreality seemed to 
encircle us. We had left all buildings behind 
us for the moment — the last a sort of square 
or crescent, where every house was empty 
and deserted. Louder than ever echoed the 
sounds of battle, and the light of the flares 
lasted five full minutes. We could see each 
other's face, and we could hear more and 
more distinctly the snip of rifles — even, it 
seemed to us, we could hear the click of 
the triggers. The pale strange light that 
was on everything was weird, and we decided 



158 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 

to go back and see if we had passed our 
destination. 

I think it was an unspoken relief to us to 
return towards the houses and the presence of 
others. It has been an everlasting regret, 
all the same, that we did not explore just a 
little farther ! 

We struck a house with a light showing 
through the shutters and hammered on the 
wall, but could get no reply. And at last in a 
side street we saw a dull red lamp burning 
over a door and hurried towards it. The door 
bore a large red cross, so we knocked, but 
getting no reply, walked in. The first room was 
empty save for a table and chair ; the second 
had three beds in it, but empty also ; then 
a small room to the right had mattresses 
on the floor and a broken chair. That was 
all. A scrap of paper on the wall caught 
our eyes, and with an electric torch we read 
enough to know it was a Belgian dressing- 
station. 

We walked on, and at. last a French sailor 
guided us to the corner of a street and pointed 
to a door. We found there a large inscription 
that English wounded were to be brought 



A NIGHT IN NIEUPORT 159 

here, and fetched from here when opportunity- 
occurred. We walked in, calling out in 
English, but never a sound greeted us. We 
found mattresses and chairs and heaps of 
straw, and one or two bandages, and a chair 
much the worse for wear ; but that was all, 
and no wounded nor sign of wounded. So we 
thoughtfully left a card with our names on 
the table, wondering who would find it, and 
if an Englishman found it if he would believe 
that his countrywomen had really penetrated 
to such a God-forsaken place at 1 a.m. in the 
morning. 

Our errand had developed into a wild-goose 
chase, so we retired sadly. Going out of the 
town we suddenly saw two great black figures 
emerge so swiftly from the roadway at our 
sides that we jumped, startled, and hurried 
on breathing rather hard. Strange to say, 
a week later one of them was brought to 
Calais wounded, and recognised Chris as she 
helped to put him in her ambulance. 

" Oh, mademoiselle," he cried joyously. 
" I saw you in Nieuport not long ago ! " 

But to us that early morning this figure of 
a zouave black with African suns was a 



160 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 

sinister one, and for very little we would have 
taken to our heels and run ! 

We negotiated the sentinel easily on our 
return journey, picked up the " Petit Came- 
rade," and got in. I lay inside on the wooden 
floor with my head on a biscuit tin, and knew 
nothing more until Chris pulled me out in the 
hospital yard at Calais — 4.30 a.m. 

" You've slept peacefully all the way," she 
said cheerily. " Oh, but it's cold " ; ana net 
a sign of fatigue nor strain did she display. 

So ended our night in Nieuport — a city of 
death and desolation, one of the many that 
cry to God for vengeance on the Boches. 



CHAPTER VII 

AN ENGLISH BILLET 

Boulogne Quai was busy. Englishmen, 
Frenchmen, Belgians were running round, each 
in their own way typical of their nation. Nell 
drew " Unity " to a halt between a French 
and an English car, and proceeded to change 
a tyre. The French driver protested it was 
a hard job for a woman — the English were 
courageous — an Englishwoman, to change a 
heavy tyre like that ! The English driver 
strolled languidly round the car, stood for an 
instant watching, sauntered slowly back to 
his own 'bus, strolled back to ours, levers in 
hand, and still in unbroken silence took tyre 
and nuts and operations generally out of Nell's 
capable hands. Only when the new tyre was 
on did he speak. 

"That'll do, I'm thinkin'," he remarked 
wisely, and strolled off again. 

Down at the quaiside a cheery, slightly 



1 62 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 

rotund personage, clean-shaven and in mufti, 
turned to me. 

" Is that your car over there — Unic Ambu- 
lance ? " 

I replied truthfully. 

" Who are you attached to ? " he asked — 
" English Red Cross ? " 

" Why do you ask ? " I replied, " because 
I hail from the Scottish hills." 

" YouVe got no number on the car," he 
returned ; " you must have a number now." 

" Really," I said superciliously. " In , 

where we are stationed, we don't use numbers ; 
haven't done since October." 

His eyes twinkled, and he solemnly assured 
me that we were then exempt from having 
numbers. Someone told me later he was the 
chief detective, or something of the sort, and 
a power in Boulogne. However, we always 
grin when we meet. 

The leave-boat arrived meanwhile, and the 
brother with it. So we sailed off merrily 
towards that Mecca of the British Expe- 
ditionary Force — G.H.Q. It would be an 
indiscretion to name it as a town, because 
everyone knows, even the people in England. 



AN ENGLISH BILLET 163 

The Germans knew before the B.E.F. ; they 
always do. A Canadian told me the other 
day how he and his comrades left England 
in severe ignorance of their destination. Even 
when they started to march from railhead to 
their little spot in the trenches they were in 
blissful ignorance, and as they " took over " 
and were busy settling in mud and dug-outs, 
still not knowing where they were, a cheery 
Teuton from the trench opposite shouted 
across in the darkness : 

" Shut up, you Canadians ; we know you're 
there ! " 

However, that is by the way. 

Nell and a gallant Scots Grey were in front, 
my brother and I sat behind, our legs dangling 
on the tailboard. We had lots to talk of — 
for in war-time one does not see much of one's 
relatives. The long hills, the wide stretches 
of country, the fascination of the vast views, 
held us too ; and then the darkness came, 
slowly at first with a mellow golden sunset, 
and then — rain. Oh, that rain ! — but we did 
not heed it much. It was an unknown road 
to Nell ; once we overshot it and had to 
return, but at last we came to G.H.Q. and 



164 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 

drew up before trie hotel in the big square. 
The brother was proud of us, but I think his 
Scots Grey friend was bashful. They tried 
to get a sitting-room, but that was impossible, 
and they had to face the roomful of khaki- 
clad men with us, who, women-like, were 
hugely enjoying their embarrassment and 
pretending to be unconscious of it. For 
ladies, even ladies who are military, are not 
supposed to penetrate to G.H.Q. We had a 
much-needed meal and started off again. This 
time the way was hard to find, and the rain 
and darkness increased. But we swung 
on past convoys, through sleeping villages, 
enjoying the astonishment of sentries at the 
vision of women soldiers as we swept off into 
the night. At last we struck Hazebrouck, 
and the brother wanted to send us back from 
there, but we wouldn't go. 

We left the Scots Grey and his bags, and 
the brother and I got in front with Nell, and 
off we went again. We stumbled on an A.S.C. 
depot and took some petrol on board. The 
two sentries were Scots, and vastly overcome 
at hearing their own tongue spoken by a 
woman in the heart of that Kttle French 



AN ENGLISH BILLET 165 

village. On again through a still and quiet 
town, devoted to Staff — a town where, I have 
heard men say, no Englishwomen have been 
since the war (but Nell and I knew better). At 
last we reached the village, where the billets 
were, and the brother ushered us in proudly. It 
was a little cottage — on one side a sitting-room, 
on the other a kitchen. Three mattresses 
were on the floor, with sleeping bags and 
pyjamas spread out ; a door led into another 
room, the adjutant's, who had the privilege 
of a room to himself. Books, papers, chocolate 
boxes (empty, I regret to say) were strewn 
about ; pipes, cigarettes, and a gorgeous Eng- 
lish home-made cake. The orderly appeared 
and got us some cocoa, and we wandered 
out to see the brother's horses. They were 
stabled at the back, and very " comfy " 
they looked. The man who was on guard was 
grateful for the boxes of " Gold Flake " we 
showered on him, and we left lots for further 
distribution. 

Then we had cocoa, and the brother was 
very worried about us going back in the 
darkness and rain, but we wanted to catch 
a boat at Calais next day. However, he sent 



166 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 

his man with two horses to wait for him at a 
certain spot, and he was to come with us so 
far to show us the way. We ran up the road, 
past the little church, past an open window 
where floods of light streamed through (all 
the village was in darkness), and at a table 
with lamps — and, ye gods ! a yellow silk 
lamp shade — we saw the brother's Colonel, who 
had arrived by the same boat, having a merry 
meal with three French officers. The brother 
stopped us farther along outside a cottage 
and crept up the garden path followed closely 
by me. 

He tapped on a shuttered window and called 
softly : " Hallo, Harry, are you asleep ? " 
And I, seized with the demon of mischief, 
laughed : " Hallo, Harry, are you asleep ? " 

A gasp of astonishment followed my voice, 
and " Harry " flung back the shutters and 
appeared blinking, still in wonderful pyjamas. 
He was delighted to see the brother and 
more delighted to see me — utter stranger as 
I was — and hastily appeared in a British 
warm, etc., to be formally introduced. His 
delight knew no bounds. It was months 
since he had spoken to Englishwomen, and 



AN ENGLISH BILLET 167 

he offered to go and sleep with the brother 
if we would stay till morning and have his 
room. But we were firm, and out in the road 
were chatting gaily. " Unity " was ready to 
start ; a baby canal was on one side of the 
road. The brother and Harry were in the 
roadway, Nell on the box, and I frivolling 
with the headlights. Suddenly the brother 
shouted, seized a flashlight, and sprang to 
the rear of the car waving it. Then I saw him 
leap backwards, throw up his hands, and 
disappear into the baby canal. 

Harry's shout of " Jump for your lives ! " 
Nell's sudden rush — a crash — and the sudden 
swerve of the Unic towards me were all 
simultaneous, and I leapt backward — down, 
down into slimy, cold, horrible water. I 
fumbled wildly in the air ; one thought alone 
dominated me — " I had new boots on." Why 
in that moment they gripped my whole mind 
I cannot tell. I thought for a moment I would 
drown. Harry's strong hands seized mine 
and pulled me up to firm ground, and all 
my gratitude said was " My new boots will 
be ruined." Then my senses steadied down. 
" Where is ? " I shouted, for I remem- 



1 68 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 

bered vividly his shout and the glimpse of that 
great car crashing into us ; but my brother 
was beside me, so was Nell ; and Harry, too, 
appeared. 

Then a tall man in khaki hastened towards 
us from the other car. 

" Much damage, you fellows ? " he called, 
and I replied there seemed to be a good deal. 
I felt rather than saw the start of surprise, 
and then his eyes peered into my face as he 
saluted. 

" I beg your pardon, I did not expect to 
find a lady ! " 

Still suffering from the shock, he walked 
backwards a step looking at the car, and my 
warning cry came too late ; he disappeared 
over the same kilometre stone as I had and 
sat down in the water, his arms and legs waving 
in the air for one ludicrous moment. 

" It is all right ; no, I am not wet," he 
declared, like the sportsman he was, and we 
pushed old " Unity " along to a corner, and 
they set to work to repair her. The chauffeur 
of the other car was annoyed with life, and he 
promptly tried to drive his car on a bit ; but 
the steering gear was smashed, and amid our 



AN ENGLISH BILLET 169 

howls of laughter he toppled over into a 
ditch, and there his car hung on one wheel 
— a pathetically droll object. 

It was clear we could not push on over 
unknown country with a damaged car, so the 
brother set off on foot to recall his horses. 
The three officers (French interpreters) who 
had run us down were already hammering 
and struggling with our engine in their shirt 
sleeves, despite the rain. They were very 
gallant gentlemen, and at last we were 
persuaded to leave them to their task and go 
with Harry to his billet. Stretchers from the 
car made beds for Harry and the brother on 
the kitchen floor, whilst Nell and I were to 
have his room. I got off my wet boots and 
dried my feet at the stove, and we found some 
coffee and began to grind it. Then Harry's 
" landlady " appeared — a dear old soul, who 
proceeded to boil water and get us coffee 
and rolls and butter, though it was now 
2.30 a.m. She stoutly refused to go to bed. 
It appears she had been an interested spec- 
tator of the smash and subsequent events, 
and I rather fancy she thought we ought to be 
chaperoned ! 



170 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 

We had a merry meal, and a strange 
experience it was, for I suppose few, if any, 
Englishwomen have passed that way since 
war started and spent a night billeted in the 
English lines. We went to bed soon after 
3, and slept peacefully till 6, when we found 
more coffee and rolls and eggs all ready for 
us. The French interpreter had returned to 
see the car start, and as he and Harry gathered 
a few flowers for us and the brother's orderly 
cleaned our boots we could hear the heavy 
booming of the guns in the distance. The 
sun was shining and spring was in the air : a 
passing regiment of English Tommies cheered 
us lustily ; they broke their lines, terribly 
craning their necks to see their country- 
women. Dear lads ! I suppose they had not 
seen one for months. We got aboard, and 
the interpreter turned the handle. Harry 
shook our hands and bade us " au revoir " 
reluctantly. We promised to return that day 
week and stay a day. (We did, but only to 
find empty billets and the regiment gone to 
Ypres !) As for the brother, he stood there 
in the sunlight, big and strong and happy ; 
and my heart was heavy despite the prospect 



AN ENGLISH BILLET 171 

of seeing him in a week. Was he, too, troubled 
with foreboding ? I know not. For a moment 
he took my hands in his as we said farewell. 
There were gay and cheery greetings. The 
spring of life and hope and love seemed very 
full that morning, and my eyes kept turning 
to the big brother in the sunlight, straight and 
tall and fit. Was it a warning, that weight at 
my heart ? — a knowledge that never again 
would I see him standing so, the sun's rays on 
his dark eyes and cheery smile. 

Ah me ! It was only a month later, within 
30 miles of that sunny spot, that I knelt in 
silent agony by his side as he too passed into 
the Great Beyond ! 



CHAPTER VIII 

THE SENTRY AND PARIS IN WARTIME 

The night was dark and chilly. All that 
long, rainy Sunday we had laboured over 
tyres by the roadside, a tiny estaminet pro- 
viding us at length with hot coffee. Then on 
again into the little country town, where no 
amount of inquiries could produce a garage. 
True, there were signboards relating to auto- 
mobiles on two doorways, there was a hotel 
that announced " Essence " and " Garage " ; 
but everywhere, it was told us sadly, the war 
had taken the men and the cars ; tyres were 
no longer in stock — not even a boy to repair. 
For another three hours we struggled with an 
inner tube of which the valve leaked, and all 
round us were inner tubes in various stages of 
senile decay, and in my heart I cursed my 
folly in having started with fewer than a 
dozen spares ! But then, could one have 
foreseen three bursts and a wretched punc- 



THE SENTRY 173 

ture ? I decided it was unwise to indulge in 
Sunday travelling. However, at last a kindly 
old Frenchman and his daughter came to 
our aid — took me with them to see their 
tyres and supplied us with an inner tube that 
did not leak, supplied me with a cup of English 
tea, bread, butter and jam. I felt so greedy 
when I returned to poor Nell, who had been 
struggling on with her punctures. At last we 
were off ; the large and rather unpleasant 
crowd were pushed back sufficiently to let us 
through, and we left the village behind 
cheerfully. " Unity " ran like a bird, respond- 
ing generously to Nell's light, sure touch. The 
sun set in a grey haze and the darkness 
descended. We ran on : kilometres flew past 
gaily ; adventure and the song of the road was 
in our souls. Then we came to a barrier. A 
waving lantern warned us to stop ; two little 
blue figures shambled alongside, and I handed 
over the magic pink paper that was " Open 
Sesame " to towns in the war zone that one 
refers to with a delicious thrill as " Somewhere 
in France." But what was this ? The 
signature and seal we held in reverence 
were not known to the little " piou-piou." 



174 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 

The one who held the laisssz-p asset became 
voluble. 

" Pas fran<;ais — des femmes — tres louches," 
were remarks that fell on our astonished 
ears. Indignantly — for was not the standing 
of my country involved ? — I announced " that 
an English military pass was good every- 
where." 

" Non, non," screamed our little ally ; 
" this is France — this is not a French pass." 

I turned " dour " and my remarks impressed 
the second sentry, who urged his comrade to 
let us pass. The comrade was annoyed, 
hesitated, and walked round our car. Then 
came a howl of derisive delight : 

" Where is your number ? You have no 
number ! Fetch the corporal of the guard — 
you who would let pass these strange women." 

" We do not use numbers in " said I 

firmly ; " we have many cars and we have no 
number — no, not one, except that we keep 
inside the bonnet. Regardez." 

He found the number on the engine and 
nearly dropped a match inside. 

" You stay here," he shouted excitedly. 
" Your papers are not in order ; you have no 



THE SENTRY 175 

number ; it is night, and you are women ; 
we shall see ... . Go, Jacques, fetch the 
corporal — at once, I tell you. Ah ! there are 
spies in France." 

These last remarks were hurled at us loudly, 
to impress the little crowd that had gathered 
from nowhere. Sentry 2 hurried off to fetch 
his corporal. Nell and I pulled out our large 
khaki handkerchiefs and pretended to dry 
imaginary tears, and laughed. Alas ! our 
little " piou-piou's " fury increased. He 
pulled a cartridge with a malignant gesture 
from his pouch; he ostentatiously inserted 
it in his rifle, and he glared at us malevolently. 

" If you advance one step, if you retire one 
step," he shouted, sweeping his free arm 
towards heaven with a great and dramatic 
movement, " / will shoot ! " 

His sweeping hand came down heavily 
on the bonnet of the car, and alas ! the 
radiator was boiling. A yell of pain ended 
his patriotic speech, and he almost over- 
balanced with the shock. The loud laughter 
of the crowd did not appease him. 

" You tell me what wrong. You come for 
supper now. I speak English. He keep you 



176 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 

here all night. He silly little man," said a 
cheery and sympathetic voice. 

A woman broke through the crowd. 

" I speak all English — dressmaker in London, 
me. I like English people." 

She proudly carried on a conversation with 
us, and triumphantly translated to the crowd. 

" This man is a fool," I told her ; " he has 
been drinking, and we have an English 
military pass, signed by a great English 
general. Oh, but the silly man will be 
punished ! " 

The crowd began to advise him to let the 
car pass ; then the corporal arrived. He 
accepted my explanation about the number, 
but not, alas ! the English seal we had with 
much pains procured and with great pride 
possessed ! 

However, having for long formed the habit 
of carrying multitudinous papers about with 
me, I managed to find a very ancient pass 
issued by a certain embassy begging everyone 
to treat me and my car with kindness ! This 
paper, long despised and rejected near the 
front, was seized on with delight by the 
corporal, who, alas ! noted the discrepancy 



THE SENTRY 177 

in the name on it and on the pink pass. Feebly 
I faltered that between the issue of one and 
the other I had changed my name — in fact, 
I faltered, I had married. To me the naked 
truth sounded a lame explanation of a sus- 
picious fact, but to my infinite relief the 
corporal chortled with joy. 

" Pass, mesdemoiselles " {had he believed 
the explanation ?) ; " let these ladies pass, 

you , " and reluctantly, fiercely, the 

little sentry removed himself from between 
our headlights. Muttering, growling, he stood 
to one side to let us through the little town. 
The crowd sent a joyous " Bon voyage " 
after us, and our cheery little friend, the dress- 
maker from London, could be heard far behind 
us relating to the corporal her conversation 
with the English miss — those strange English, 
whose women tour 300 miles of France in 
war time alone and unafraid. I have often 
wondered if the little sentry remembered to 
extract his cartridge before it did any harm. 

We pressed on in the darkness along the 
great white roads ; a moon was rising slowly, 
and soon the whole way lay bathed in silver 
light. It was cold, intensely cold, but 



i 7 8 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 

" Unity's " engine was running well, and the 
night air was soothing. Our mission had been 
satisfactorily accomplished, and we were at 
peace with all the world. 

The hours and the kilometres passed rapidly. 
Long, straight roads and stretches of fields 
gave place to towns, and a glimpse of the 
silver river and steep banks and woods around 
it. We arrived at Etampes late, indeed after 
midnight, and a friendly porter at the station 
suggested a hotel. We rang up the good 
woman, left " Unity " in the garage, and got 
to bed, tired, indeed, but happy. Next 
morning we were up betimes, and our bill was 
the smallest I have ever settled, owing to the 
dear lady of the hotel classing us as chauffeurs 
and showing her appreciation of our work by 
sparing our pockets. So on we ran this time 
with a blue sky and a life-giving sun overhead, 
winding along the river bank, loitering to 
admire the views, and at length through the 
great woods, beautiful in their solitude. What 
a lovely road that is from Tours to Paris ; and 
what a happy life must be the life of a motor 
tramp ! The approach to Paris on this early 
spring day seems now to memory's eye a 



PARIS IN WAR TIME 179 

vista of blossom — orchards on every side, trie 
shimmer of snow across them, and the fresh 
greens of spring. The painful process of 
navigating miles of rough pave was atoned for 
by the glimpse of woods and moors and river, 
and at length Paris herself — Paris in war 
time ! 

At first there seemed little to indicate the 
War. To our eyes, so long accustomed to 
uniforms and small shops and tents and huts, 
this world of wonderful shop windows and 
daintily-dressed women and busy scenes of 
traffic was novel and thrilling. But very soon 
we picked out the black frocks, the crepe 
veils, the limping soldiers, the hospitals, the 
subdued sorrow that seemed to hover over the 
city. 

The crowd seemed to find us of as much 
interest as we found them. We found the 
offices we had to report at, and then ran out 
to Neuilly to the American Hospital. What 
a wonderfully organised place it is ! Rows 
of immaculate motor cars in the courtyard, 
with lamps that glistened in the sunlight, 
burnished brass and smoothly painted bodies. 
Poor " Unity " jibbed self-consciously as 



180 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 

she was drawn up to her place in the ranks ; 
but " Unity's " dull coat and unpolished 
brass hid a stout heart that never failed in 
difficulty or danger — I, at least, was proud of 
her. 

Inside were luxurious wards, white-clad, 
clever-looking doctors, beautiful women in 
white garments that made our weather- 
beaten khaki look dull and dirty. They 
received us most kindly and gave us a kindly 
send-off. Having an hour and a half to spare, 
we could not resist memories of Rumpel- 
meyers, and, despite our khaki uniforms, we 
were soon rejoicing over chocolate and chest- 
nut cakes. Near us at a small table two ladies 
in beautifully-cut clothes talked of us and 
smiled in our direction, and at length one came 
over and said to us cordially : 

" I must tell you how we admire you and 
your work. If I were twenty years younger 
I would come with you myself." 

Dear, kindly Paris, roused from light- 
hearted frivolity ; what a cheery break our 
little visit made ! 

We left Paris late in the afternoon, and were 
hung up with tyre trouble again and again, 



PARIS IN WAR TIME 181 

until, indeed, we reached our next break at 
2 a.m. and found the chief hotels full and 
closed up. However, we managed to get 
shelter, and next morning took a pitiful tale 
to the friendly great ones near by, and borrowed 
money to pay our bill and speed us on our way 
— for my last forty francs had gone to buy a 
new inner tube at I that morning in a tiny 
town. And so once more to Calais, where we 
were greeted with new orders that our cars 
must be numbered henceforth. 

To show our independence, I promptly 
submitted a list of numbers which began with 
F.A.N.Y. I and ended (then) with F.A.N.Y. 7. 
To my exceeding joy the numbers and letter- 
ing were accepted, and from that day the 
French sentries dubbed us the FANYS, as on 
the approach of a car they at once caught 
sight of the number and with their ready 
smiles exclaimed " Pass, Fany." 



CHAPTER IX 



LIFE AT RUCHARD 



Ruchard ! Does the name bring to your 
mind anything at all ? Have you, perchance, 
in time of peace drifted through Tours and 
Azay, Angy and Amboise ? Do the old his- 
torical chateaux of France spring up before 
your mind's eye, with their stately terraces 
and fertile gardens — their charm and grace 
of a long-vanished race of courtiers ? In 
summer there are few valleys so smiling and 
so prosperous ; in winter few places so bleak 
and damp and bare. And in the centre, 
tucked away, lies Ruchard — a vast plain, now, 
of huts and tents ; but when first I saw it the 
huts were few and the tents many, and mud 
was everywhere. 

Here, then, is the home of thousands of 
soldiers. I cannot, for obvious reasons, 
deal in figures ; but we are concerned with 
only 700, and these are convalescents. To 



LIFE AT RUCHARD 183 

them the F.A.N. Y.'s have brought comfort 
and comradeship and an atmosphere of home 
for which the lonely little Belgian soldiers 
are intensely grateful. In April, then, of 
191 5 I paid my first visit to the camp, and 
returned from it sad of heart for the want of 
comfort and the monotony of life for these 
brave fellows. Many things intervened, and 
it was August before I returned. Chris drove 
us down in " Le Petit Camerade " — the good 
little Ford that has done so much good work. 
And with us went Cole Hamilton — ready for 
the pioneer job in front of her. 

The journey was not without its amuse- 
ments — and its trials. " Le Petit Camerade " 
started by bursting a tyre before we reached 
Boulogne. That was soon remedied. 

The day was intensely hot, the road was 
long and gritty, and one tyre after another 
burst joyously, and soon even the two spares 
had gone the way of the others. Chris smiled 
through it all — imperturbable. I chafed and 
fumed, and was intensely disagreeable. And 
so, instead of having afternoon tea at Rouen, 
we were yet 12 kilometres from that stately 
town at something to 11 at night. And not 



1 84 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 

all the coaxing in the world would make those 
tyres and tubes behave. (It was more than 
tiresome.) Our supper was coffee and eggs 
in a wayside estaminet, and the good woman 
tried her best to make us partake of tinned 
tripe. And at length, with the sacking that 
contained our brand-new tent tied round the 
wheel with the ropes cut from that same 
brand new tent, we rumbled and bumped into 
Rouen towards midnight. All garages were 
closed save one, for so the French help to make 
munitions, and a grand thing it is that every 
garage becomes by night a factory of muni- 
tions. Into the one garage we gained admit- 
tance, to find the concierge screaming like one 
possessed, and an officer — whose nationality 
shall remain a secret — trying to light his 
lamps with unsteady gait and a cheery 
confidence in his powers of speech. The 
concierge and the officer were quarrelling 
(over national customs perhaps), and the 
officer demanding paraffin wildly, got it (only 
it was petrol), and on applying his match up 
went his two headlights in a blaze. 

At this juncture three Red Cross men 
offered me a seat in their car as far as the 




RESTING BY THE WAYSIDE. 




THE FIRST SOLDIERS CANTEEN IN THE BELGIAN ARMY. 
RUCHARD, I9I5. 



LIFE AT RUCHARD 185 

Supplies Depot, On the way they sighted 
a baby Peugeot racing along. 

" That's the man you want," they said, and 
gave chase. 

At the barrier a temporary check brought 
us level. I was hoisted unceremoniously 
beside the pilot of the Peugeot, and the Red 
Cross car sped into the darkness and vanished. 

When I had recovered my breath I looked 
at my companion. He was young, immacu- 
lately clad in the usual khaki and sam-browne, 
and his face was quite expressionless. In 
fact he had the air of a man to whom such a 
trivial incident as the sudden shooting of a 
lone damsel into his car in the streets of Rouen 
at dead of night was quite unremarkable. 

" Can I do anything for you ? " he asked, 
without the shadow of a smile, but in a polite, 
friendly way. 

" Yes," I answered frankly. " I want two 
Ford tyres and two inner tubes, and I want 
them to-night." 

He slowed down his car, turned neatly on 
one wheel, and talked of general matters. 
So small is the world that he knew intimately 
friends whom I had visited in New Zealand ! 



1 86 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 

" Here's our place ! " He hooted at two 
great gates, but no reply was vouchsafed. 
Then he hammered on the doors, and then to 
my horror he scrambled up those great gates 
and vanished over the top. I sat in the car 
waiting for a shot to break the stillness, and 
for myself to be arrested as a spy. But the 
great gates creaked back. My pilot took the 
wheel once more, and we went into a great 
yard, where all was darkness and silence and 
long covered buildings. We drew up noisily, 
and a figure appeared half-way down the 
yard. 

" Halt ! Who goes there ? " came a voice 
faltering with surprise. 

And then . . . Well, the sentry hadn't 
much show, and I learnt the correct way to 
call the guard over the coals if you break into 
their precincts like a thief at dead of night. 
A sleepy corporal wandered through stacks 
• and stacks of tyres of all sizes and makes, 
and at length produced what was wanted. 
Oh, joyous moment ! The British Army is 
never to be found lacking in time of need. 

But alas ! Sleepy as was the corporal, and 
sympathetic for my plight, he had orders to 



LIFE AT RUCHARD 187 

accept only one signature for those tyres. My 
pilot proved himself a true comrade. He put 
me back in the car, took the wheel, and was 
off like a flash past barriers and pickets, and 
drew up in front of a great gloomy chateau on a 
lonely country road. This was true adventure. 
I chuckled to myself at the faces of the dear 
people at home could they see me now ! Of a 
sudden lights flashed at all the windows ; 
pyjama-clad figures were silhouetted ; anxious 
voices asked what the something, something 
all the row was. An awful silence followed. 
The figures withdrew hastily ; the announce- 
ment that there was a lady in the car quite 
overwhelmed them. In ten minutes the one 
possible signature was in our possession, and 
in half an hour the tyres and inner tubes were 
also in our possession and we were on our way 
to the garage. 

A weary Chris and a weary subaltern who 
had stayed to offer his services were tinkering 
with the car. Cole Hamilton slumbered at 
odd moments in the seat of the landaulette. 
My pilot tackled the job, and after much 
trouble got a tube on and pinched it. What a 
time ! He got on a new tube and a stiff new 



1 88 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 

tyre at last. Cole Hamilton saved our lives 
and sobered the concierge by making Bovril on 
a Tommy's cooker. The final triumph was 
achieved when our kindly pilot took a long 
iron pole from the floor to hammer the new 
tyre in its place, tools being hard to obtain 
as the concierge was drunk. It was nearly 
4 a.m. as we passed from the garage into the 
cold night air and made for Vendome. 

We reached Ruchard at mid-day — 200 
kilometres — having stopped for an hour and 
a half for breakfast and an hour's sleep. 
We reported at camp duly and fixed our 
appointment with the General. 

Ruchard in summer, with the sun streaming 
over everything, is alluring. The formalities 
at camp settled, we were taken by the Colonel 

to General P at Tours. He was courtly 

and kindly to a degree ; his words of gratitude 
were eloquent, and he did not stop at words. 
The expenses of building a hut had weighed 
heavily on our minds. He gave us generously 
the use of two large stone huts, and ordered 
the dividing wall to be knocked down. And 
so we got our barrack. 

The weeks that followed saw the barrack 



LIFE AT RUCHARD 189 

transformed. Tables and chairs, a large 
counter, a small dining-room for the staff, 
a kitchen with a range and a big boiler of hot 
water, a store-room — all these were built by 
the soldiers under Cole Hamilton's super- 
vision. Then the interned men, or " compagnie 
speciale" painted the whitewashed walls with 
the arms of Belgium and the Allies, and over 
the door painted largely the badge of the 
F.A.N. Y. Corps. Posters of shipping com- 
panies, advertisements that were artistic, 
went up as pictures ; casement curtains 
finished off the windows ; and now the stage 
erected by the men themselves has trans- 
formed the bare barrack into a home. The 
piano we pay for — 12 francs a month ; and 
what a big 12 francs' worth of happiness is 
ensured ! The men get up concerts and 
acts, and draw their own programmes and 
posters. 

Chris taught them English ; one of her 
classes held five professors, now soldiers 1 
How they love it all, these men 1 And it warms 
one's heart to stand at the counter pouring 
out tea and coffee, giving them cake and 
chocolate, hearing their stories, listening to 



i 9 o A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 

the experiences they have undergone, admiring 
the pictures of their wives and babies. Then 
they love games — bagatelle, draughts, cards, 
chess, dominoes ; and how they love to have a 
game with an " English miss " — a " Fany." 
And after midday dinner is over in camp they 
go out and play rounders or hockey and 
forget their sorrows and their exile. 

All afternoon the room is crowded ; then it 
is cleared for an hour and crowded again in the 
evening. Twice a week the mad and epileptic 
come, and how they enjoy themselves ! They 
play at cards, and one man stakes " one 
million francs," " two million," " ten million "; 
and they palm cards and hide them under 
the table and cheat frankly and gaily and 
happily. They sing, too — poor madmen whose 
voices once drew thousands to listen. One 
poor lad broke into violence, and was sent 
" to be cured " to a neighbouring asylum. 
We heard after his return that he was tied with 
his hands above his head for four hours under 
a cold douche. And that was the cure ! 

There are huts close by for consumptives, 
who may not use the canteen, but they are 
visited by Nurse Lovell, who cares for them 



LIFE AT RUCHARD 191 

with the utmost devotion, which they repay 
tenfold ! Such is Ruchard. 

The work is hard and the comforts few, 
but the workers give their services cheerily, 
and do not think of themselves. Miss 
Crockett must miss her Australian sunshine 
in the long dreary days of winter, but she stays 
on undaunted. Miss Cole Hamilton directed 
it all — led it through the difficulties of the 
start ; Chris cheered them all and taught 
them and sang to them, and all the staff 
have done their share ; and it is no small 
thing to bring sunshine into the lives of 
hundreds of gallant soldiers — not only sun- 
shine, but strength ; and that is proved by 
the utter lack of crime, drunkenness, etc., 
since the F.A.N.Y. Canteen opened. 

In closing, I may say that, whatever 
experiences people may have, the F.A.N. Y.'s 
have always met with respect and gratitude 
from all soldiers, Belgian and British and 
French. Their first year's work was chiefly 
amongst Belgians. They had Belgians as 
patients in hospital at Lamark, as orderlies, 
as comrades at the front, and as friends at 
Ruchard, and everywhere they have found 



192 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 

intense gratitude from the men themselves — 
an appreciation of their services that has 
encouraged them to continue in giving them, 
a childlike confidence in their power to help, 
and a warm admiration for the trifling sacri- 
fices of home-life and comforts that such work 
has entailed. 

Perhaps the future generations of Belgian 
girls will receive broader and finer training 
in consequence. Certainly the chivalry of 
all our soldiers has been tested and proved 
over and over again. In that lonely world 
of men, where few women were found in the 
beginning, the F.A.N.Y.'s were as safe as 
in their own homes. Courtesy and considera- 
tion were the chief characteristics of the 
Belgian soldiers — brave and gay as they are, 
simple in their tastes, and simple in their 
pleasures. They saw with wonder how women 
could work, and they surrounded women 
henceforth with respectful devotion. 

May little Belgium soon come into her own, 
and her people be reunited and restored to 
their hearths and homes where that is possible. 
They are plucky and uncomplaining, and 
deserve a great reward. 



CHAPTER X 

ODDMENTS AND THE END 

The F.A.N. Y.'s have always prided them- 
selves on their versatility. Among ambulance 
work, canteens and hospital, they still had 
time and place for a motor kitchen and a 
motor bath. 

The motor kitchen first, as it came to Calais 
in February, 191 5, and with its auburn- 
haired owner and pilot. It did work at the 
station, it went to distant troops with coffee 
and soup, and then one day its great adventure 
came. That was quite an ordinary day in 
May when a Belgian officer and a member 
of the British Intelligence Staff called to ask 
for the loan of the motor kitchen. It was 
3 o'clock when they stated the case — that a 
certain Belgian battery attached to an English 
division would be grateful to have the kitchen 
with them to cook for the men. At 6 o'clock 
the kitchen was filled with provender, a tent 



194 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 

on the roof ; petrol and paraffin inside ; 
Betty and Tommy on the box, with a sergeant 
sent by the battery to guide them. I saw 
them off with envy in my heart — and triumph ; 
for here at last prejudices had been swept 
aside — the battery was on its way to the firing 
line. 

It is not for me to tell fully that tale of 
gallantry, but at least the bare facts have been 
told me. The first three or four days were 
spent in tiny villages, and billets were found 
for Betty and Tommy. (This is not improper 
or even romantic — Tommy is a F.A.N.Y., 
therefore a girl.) Then — height of desire — 
the battery came along the rough shell- 
shattered road to Ypres, and through Ypres 
and beyond Ypres. Here was congestion of 
convoys and troops ; but the driver never 
failed, nor did the gallant little Ford. Along 
a road rough and almost impassable the 
kitchen advanced, and when the battery 
settled for the night the two F.A.N.Y.'s, 
after mess, turned into rest in an ancient 
barn. The booming of the guns all round 
lulled them to sleep — their last thoughts 
were of the struggle going on three miles from 



ODDMENTS AND THE END 195 

them. ... At 3 in the morning they woke 
to a strange, sickly smell, and wondered if 
the barn was on fire ; then they were called, 
and an orderly brought them their gas masks, 
which were being issued to the whole battery. 
This, then, explained the smell, and the sick 
feeling that came over them. They got out 
into the air — no longer fresh, alas ! From the 
direction of the trenches men were coming — 
weary, staggering figures — first one or two, 
and then a little group of five, of which the 
two outside figures lurched against and 
seemingly supported the other three ; and 
suddenly two of them rolled over and lay 
on the road, gasping, spluttering, sick unto 
death, with grey-green faces, and eyes which 
mirrored the horrors of hell. Then Betty 
and Tommy started to work. Man after man 
was helped into the barn — pulled to his feet, 
steadied down the road — and hot strong coffee 
was forced down their throats. Two Canadians 
had lost their masks, and the two girls handed 
them theirs, and soaked wads of cotton wool 
in soda, and tied that across their own faces. 
Came two men helped by comrades, them- 
selves scarcely able to walk, and these two 



196 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 

would yield to no treatment. The Canadian 
medical officer came, shrugged a sorrowful 
shoulder, and passed on ; but the F.A.N.Y.'s 
blood was up. They made coffee blacker and 
hotter than ever coffee was made before, they 
forced it down the throats of the two whose 
lives seemed ended, and when the Canadian 
doctor returned his looks were more eloquent 
than his curt words of commendation. That 
day, indeed, the kitchen justified itself, and 
two lives were saved for England. Then the 
wounded and the gassed had to be carried to 
a chateau half a mile down the road ; and that 
half-mile of roadway was under fire. But 
Tommy, the F.A.N.Y. lance-corporal, and 
Betty, the chauffeur, directed the stretcher- 
bearers as calmly as in the hospital yard at 
Calais, and the barn was cleared. One fact 
impressed them, and that was that the men 
with South African ribbons held to their 
rifles as long as the power to stand remained 
in them — a small thing and yet significant. 

And what was the end of this story ? Well 
— rumours grew round it as rumours will, 
but it was a plain, bald ending. The British 
powers that were awoke amazed to the fact 



ODDMENTS AND THE END 197 

that two girls were in the ranks. The other 
fact that they bore themselves as men was of 
no avail — nor even that in consequence 
two men still lived whose breath had gone 
from their bodies ; and so an officer came with 
courteous but strict injunctions to escort them 
to G.H.Q., and at G.H.Q. a bland and genial 
personage interviewed them and blandly and 
genially suggested that the hospital at Calais 
was healthier than the trenches near Ypres 
— and that was all. 

Now for the bath. A certain Scottish and 
enterprising firm — the same that produced 
the Unic in seven days as a complete motor 
ambulance because it was essential — invented 
a bath-house fitted with large tanks to contain 
and boil water, and ten collapsible full-length 
canvas baths, and a disinfecting press to hold 
clothing. This bath-house they put on a 
motor chassis, and made taps and fitted piping, 
and surrounded the whole with awning that 
could be furled up on the outside of the bath 
when not in use. This, then, was a motor 
bath-house destined to supply baths for luck- 
less soldiers who were not near bathing 
establishments. This ingenious and intricate 



198 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 

affair was shown me by the director of the 
firm, and alas ! it was going to the Director- 
General of Medical Services. I was promised 
the refusal of the next one built, and wondered 
hopefully where the funds would come from. 
Then two energetic and enterprising sisters 
blew in at the hospital on their way from Paris 
to England, joined the F.A.N. Y.'s, and when 
they returned from England brought the bath 
with them. Then the bath and red tape 
made each other's acquaintance ; but after all 
red tape is like barbed wire entanglements 
— if you can't cut it, get round it. And the 
bath got round. In after years, perchance, 
grandchildren of this generation may hear 
from the lips of veterans of the Great War how 
once upon a time were many men in khaki who 
had to go for long weeks without baths, until 
one day came two maidens attired in khaki 
and with them a large unwieldy-looking 
monster ; and of how ten baths were laid out 
in neat rows and awnings unfurled and 250 
men in a day spent fifteen minutes each in a 
bath . . . ; and how by this means the 
troops refreshed themselves. And these 
maidens belonged to a strange corps called 



ODDMENTS AND THE END 199 

F.A.N.Y.'s, who seemed to get just where 
they were most wanted at the right moment. 
And not only British, but Belgian soldiers 
can tell this tale. 

There have been other side-tracks also. 
The sudden arrival of two divisions from the 
front at a station in Northern France was 
coped with by the F.A.N.Y.'s, who carried 
on a day and night canteen and a full hospital 
with one staff, which required four-hour shifts 
for the girls. 

Then another not unimportant task has 
been giving concerts to the men in the various 
camps, and highly appreciated such concerts 
are. Then, too, the chaplains have again and 
again been thankful to have a F.A.N.Y. play 
for the Sunday services, and perhaps sing a 
sacred solo at the end ; and one padre told 
me his congregations were doubled in every 
camp after this innovation was effected. 

Now, after a year's probation, the F.A.N.Y.'s 
are within sight of their goal, — pioneers of 
women's work — and a fitting ending to this 
volume comes with the tale of the F.A.N.Y. 
Convoy. As long ago as November, 191 4, 
a certain distinguished Surgeon-General at 



200 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 

G.H.Q. courteously dismissed the idea of the 
F.A.N. Y.'s driving motor ambulances for the 
British Army. He explained regretfully that 
we were not yet attached to the R.A.M.C. 
... It was impossible. I grinned cheerfully 
and as a parting shot announced : 

" We'll do it yet ; wait and see." 

And he smilingly replied : 

" I'll back you to win hands down, so it's 
au revoir." 

In July, 191 5, I wrote to the War Office 
on behalf of the F.A.N.Y.'s and offered a 
motor-ambulance convoy for Calais or any 
base which they might suggest. The answer 
to this was in the negative. " It was not 
considered practical." 

Three or four months later my " sister- 
officer " and I paid a flying visit to G.H.Q. 
and reminded our friend there of his " au 
revoir " ; thence we hurried to two other 
" Somewheres " in France, pressing the possi- 
bilities of a woman's convoy, and at last, 
with a helping (and very helpful) shove from 
a place officially designated I.G.C.H.Q. (which 
he who runs may read), the F.A.N.Y. Corps 
was accepted for service with the British 



ODDMENTS AND THE END 201 

Army. On New Year's Day, 191 6, a convoy of 
motor ambulance and motor lorries, drivers, 
orderlies, and cooks — all women — started work 
in France. 

Their work is strenuous and of real service. 
Each girl driver keeps her car in running 
order ; she turns out in the morning and cleans 
and oils her car. When the barges come down 
the motor ambulances are there drawn up in a 
straight line, each girl standing to attention 
beside each car. The wounded are loaded in : 
the driver starts off slowly and carefully 
through the streets, and delivers her load at 
the hospital indicated. Then, as need may be, 
she may return for other loads, or be sent on an 
" isolation " job — that is to say, she drives 
to a camp some miles out to fetch in a case of 
fracture or other casualty. Then she may 
have to stand to and drive loads of wounded 
from the hospital to the hospital-boats ; 
and two or three times a week she has to take 
" loads " of convalescents to a neighbouring 
base some 20 miles away. This is the first 
convoy of women, but already it is not the last. 
Here is scope for hundreds of women, for this 
work can quite well be given to women to 



202 A F.A.N.Y. IN FRANCE 

do. There is no danger and no untoward 
physical strain. If every convoy in base 
towns was " manned " by women, then all the 
men at present so employed could be given 
the rougher work further afield that women 
perhaps cannot undertake. Already, within 
ten months of the start, the F.A.N.Y. convoy 
has given such satisfaction it has been greatly 
increased ; and I am confident it will yet 
increase. 

Women have proved what they can do since 
the War broke out ; and is this a mean record — 
for a corps that had no influence, no money, 
and no recognition to start with, that now, 
after two years' active service, it has more 
than doubled its membership and has five 
units working in France ? 

A few names have been mentioned more 
than others, but the roll-call of the F.A.N.Y.'s 
will one day be published and give the names 
and services of all who have worked with the 
corps. For every individual member has 
rendered splendid service to the world, and 
when the history of the corps is written full 
justice will be done to all. 



ODDMENTS AND THE END 203 

This is more or less a record of personal 
happenings taken from my diary, circulated 
privately and published now at the request 
of those friends whose interest was aroused. 
I have omitted the exciting story of Sister 
White and other two F.A.N. Y.'s who received 
the Order of Leopold from King Albert for 
bravery under fire. I have not dwelt upon 
the steady and wonderful work done by our 
band of trained nurses, nor the quiet devotion 
displayed by probationers and ward orderlies. 
I have not pictured our Belgian doctors or 
adjutant or orderlies — not even the irresis- 
tible humour of Louis, the orderly whose 
vocation calls him to the priesthood, who in 
his proud knowledge of the English language 
tells visitors blandly " he is learning to be a 
father." 

All these things and many more will be 
related after the war is over in the History of 
the F.A.N.Y. Corps. 



THE WHITEFRIARS PRESS, LTD., LONDON AND TONBRIDGE. 



v ^ 



